


Indelible

by crazynadine



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Abuse, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bipolar Ian Gallagher, Bottom Mickey Milkovich, Boys Kissing, Canon-Typical Violence, Closeted Mickey Milkovich, Denial of Feelings, EMT Ian Gallagher, Government Intervention, Homophobia, Homophobic Language, M/M, Prescription Drugs, Prophetic Dreams, Recreational Drug Use, Sibling Bonding, Sibling Love, Slow Burn, Swearing, Top Ian Gallagher, completed work, love at first touch
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-26
Updated: 2019-03-24
Packaged: 2019-11-05 09:36:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 35,551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17916338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crazynadine/pseuds/crazynadine
Summary: Indelible: adj. - making marks that cannot be removed; not able to be forgotten or removed.In a world where everyone is searching for their soulmate from the moment their Mark appears, two broken men on the south side are avoiding meeting their Match at all costs.





	1. Dissimulation

**Author's Note:**

> Ian had always wanted to meet his soulmate, that is until he was diagnosed with bipolar disorder at seventeen. Now he finds he's just not ready. He wants to be someone his soulmate would be proud to be bonded to. So now he waits. He goes to therapy, he takes his meds, and he waits to feel whole again. He waits for the right moment to go find what's his.  
> Mickey is under a lot of pressure from his father. To be a mindless thug in his crew. To further the Milkovich legacy of violence and crime. But more than anything, he's under pressure to meet his soulmate. Terry doesn't like different. And a grown man without a soulmate is about as different as it gets. But if Terry knew his secret, finding his soulmate would be the least of Mickey's worries. Mickey knows his soulmate is a man, and he is going to do whatever it takes to NOT meet him. Not until Terry is no longer a threat. It's the only way to protect himself, and a man he's never met, but just might belong with, from the murderous wrath of his homophobic prick of a father.  
> So he waits. He waits for the right moment to go find what's his.

Dissimulation: (v) to conceal or disguise (one's thoughts, feelings, or character.)

 

Ian stares into his locker at work, wishing the cramped space was a portal to another dimension. He wishes he could just crawl into his locker and come out in another world, like Narnia or some shit. 

He's just so tired of all this. 

He understands that it's just part of life, but his life is so stressful as it is, it seems unfair of the universe to add the whole soulmate mess to the mix. 

Ian's always wanted to meet his soulmate. Long before he knew he was gay, he knew he wanted to belong to someone like that. Ever since Fiona started reading him bedtime stories when he was just a child. Those stories were so romantic, so exciting and inspiring. Always with the same premise.  


On the morning of a child's sixteenth birthday, they will awaken after a night of intense dreams to find they have changed. Somewhere on their body, will be their Mark. A perfect black imprint of their soulmate's first touch. And that mark shall remain unchanging until the moment your soulmate touches you. And at that incredible, awe inspiring moment, your Mark will become vibrant, alive with all the colors of the rainbow. And the two predestined people fall instantly in love and live happily ever after. 

That is the bullshit Ian's older sister has been feeding him since he was just a toddler. And to some extent it was true. Soulmates were real, and sometimes it was a beautiful thing. But life is never that simple, and fairy tales don't often happen in reality. 

And happily ever afters were even less common for gay kids on the south side. His family was supportive, and some of the neighborhood was, but it wasn't like potential Mates were just wandering around the garbage strewn streets, looking to make Ian's dreams come true. 

Ian's had his Mark for almost four years now. He remembers the first moment he saw it with vivid clarity. The morning of his sixteenth birthday, he'd awoken after a fitful night's rest full of insane dreams. Just like Fiona always said. There had been a man, but Ian couldn't see his face. But in that dream, with that faceless stranger, Ian had felt more loved, more at peace than he ever had. 

He'd shot straight up in his bed, panting. He had tears streaming down his face and sweat drenching his body. He'd also had the biggest, hardest erection he'd ever experienced in his short life. His chest was burning, like the hottest, most painful sunburn.

He'd scrambled out of bed, skidding on the hardwood floor on his way to the bathroom. He had to see it. He could feel it, scorching chest. He had to see it with his own eyes. 

His Mark.

Once he was in the bathroom, he'd locked himself in, pulling his shirt off and tossing it to the floor. He had stared at himself in the mirror, his chest heaving. 

And there it was. 

The perfect black imprint of two human hands on his chest. Resting right over his pecs, equally spaced, and so, so dark. 

Those were his soulmate's hands. 

Ian had been so excited in that moment. Ready to go out into the world and find the one man meant just for him. 

That would be easier said than done, however. 

Because not long after Ian's seventeenth birthday, he got sick. At first he hadn't even known anything was wrong. He'd felt great. Better than he had in his entire life. He started drawing, painting, writing, anything to get the racing thoughts out of his head and into the world. He ran too. Faster and longer than he ever had on the track team. He ran a five minute mile that summer. 

He was on fire. He was unstoppable. 

Until he wasn't. 

The depression had caught him by surprise. One day he was up in his room, plotting out all the different way he was going to search out Mr. Handprints. His soulmate had been out in the world for a whole year, and Ian hadn't even looked for him yet. He'd spent hours laying out a detailed plan, falling asleep with his face squashed into his notebook, a small smile on his lips. 

That smile was gone the next morning, along with Ian's will to live. If he'd had it in him to feel emotion, he would have cried. But as it were, he just laid in bed, staring at the wall, his mind blank, his heart empty. 

After six days in bed, Fiona had dragged him to the free clinic, where he'd gotten the worst news of his life. Seventeen years old and diagnoses with Bipolar I disorder. Just like his deadbeat mom.

Ian had been devastated. The first few months after his diagnosis were blur of meds, long hours of sleep and even longer hours of lonely, sad introspection. He'd felt so damaged, so unlovable. The meds made him scatterbrained, and for the first few months he had been unable to concentrate on anything for more than a few minutes. He felt like he was falling apart at the seams. He got kicked off the cross country team, his grades slipped, his friends stopped picking up his calls. He missed so much school during his swings he finally just called it quits and dropped out. 

No school. No friends. No prospects. No future. 

And no soulmate. What self respecting man would ever want Ian for a soulmate? He was damaged goods, plain and simple.

He had run out of options. His life was officially over. 

He spent about a year feeling sorry for himself. Cursing his bad genes and his crazy mother for ruining his life before it had even began. He cried a lot, drank a lot, did a lot of drugs. None of which mixed very well with his meds. He was spiraling with no end in sight. He didn't leave the house unless he was going to the club to drown his sorrows in cheap booze and nameless men. He even stripped for a while there, getting higher on the attention than he ever did from the drugs. It got so bad, Fiona and Lip threatened to have him committed. But Ian didn't care. What difference would it make? His life was going nowhere, and he was going to die alone. 

It all changed for Ian a year and a half after his diagnosis. Of course, it didn't happen the normal way. There was no intervention, no heartfelt conversation with his family. No sudden realization that he was better than what he was settling for. 

The direction of Ian's entire life was altered by a dream. 

The dream was simple, no real detail or meaning. Ian can't remember any specifics. The only thing he does recall is laying in bed with another man. He can't recall his face, his hair color, or even his race. All he does know is that they were tangled up in each other in the blankets, holding each other close, foreheads pressed tightly together. Ian remember kissing this mystery man, and feeling an incredibly powerful rush of peace and adoration. When his dream lover spoke, Ian's entire being was alight with happiness. 

'I didn't think I'd ever find you.' his lover had said. 

'I never gave up hope.' Ian replied, kissing him softly. 

Ian had awoken with a start, hard and sweating, alone in his bed. But from that moment on, he knew. He knew his soulmate was out there, waiting for him. 

That reassurance was all he needed to turn his life around. He wanted to be the best version of himself when he finally met his soulmate. He wanted to make him proud. 

So Ian had gotten his shit together. He started seeing his therapist regularly, taking his health seriously. He never missed a dose of his medication, he worked out, got enough sleep, limited his alcohol intake and barely smoked weed at all anymore. He got his GED and enrolled in the EMT night school program at McKinley High School, paid his way through school working at a diner down the block. 

The rest is pretty much history. It's been four years since Ian got his Mark, and two years since he had his epiphany. And yet, no soulmate. He's still unsure if now is the right time to look for him. Ian is still not convinced he is his best self. He has more work to do. 

But he's been exploring his options, more out of curiosity than anything else. So he's been looking into all the different ways people meet their soulmates these days. 

Soulmates are big business. Even the government is in on it. You have Match Sites, kind of like Facebook and Grindr, but solely for finding your soulmate. They have chatrooms and Mark identifying sites and meetup sites. Ian doesn't know what it feels like to find your soulmate, but he can't imagine it's fun going through hundreds of people, letting them touch your Marks, and getting no Colors. 

That's where the government comes in. When a person can't be with their soulmate for one reason or another, the FDA has an entire battery of prescription drugs to counteract the pain of not having one. Sedatives, mood stabilizers. It's actually a lot like what Ian takes for his disorder, which is kinda funny if you think about it. Those measures are usually reserved for someone in extenuating circumstances. Like if you've been searching for them for years, all to no avail. Or if your soulmate dies, or goes to jail for life. Or if you are one of the very unlucky few who has a soulmate that breaks you down. Someone that beats you or cheats. Someone that hurts you more than they love you.

Ian had thought when he was a child that all soulmate love was perfect, beautiful. But watching his parents as a child, he learned that that is not the case at all. The soul bond goes beyond love. The purpose of it is to teach your soul important lessons during your incarnation on Earth. So if you need to learn resiliency and self reliance, chances are good you are going to get a soulmate that tests you. Some people can't withstand that type of pressure, however, and the soul bond is severed. 

Ian has seen a soul bond gone bad in his parents. It was clear to him from a young age that Frank and Monica could have been wonderful together, if they weren't so selfish and self serving. They were meant to learn powerful lessons in this lifetime, but ignored all the signs fate was giving them, intent on wasting their lives on drugs and booze. Monica left when his youngest brother Liam was just a baby. Frank had been a mess. Even at their worst, Frank and Monica were both better people when they were together. Once the soul bond was severed, neither of them had much time left. Six months after Monica ran away, they died on the same day, Monica of an overdose in Phoenix, and Frank of alcohol poisoning in their family's living room. 

People without soulmates are prone to anxiety and depression. They are more likely to be addicts, more likely to commit crime. That's why medicating away the loss of a soulmate is so common. It helps you live a more content, normal life. 

Even if you'll never really be happy. 

Ian was considering this option, until that dream. Now Ian spends all his time working on himself, bettering himself. So when his soulmate finally touches him, and his Mark blooms in technicolor, Ian will be the best version of himself he can be, for him. 

He doesn't want his soulmate to end up one of those people, medicating their connection away. He knows he's damaged. He knows he's not good enough. But he wants to be. 

So he works on it. And he waits. 

 

***

 

Mickey hates the idea of soulmates. He doesn't have control over much in his life. And now he can't even be in charge of who he belongs with? What does fate have to do with where he sticks his dick? It all seems ridiculously unfair. 

Like it's not bad enough that he's a fag. 

Mickey has known he was gay since he was very young. He can remember being thirteen years old, watching Batman Begins with Iggy. It was a DVD he'd ganked from the Shop n Save. He'd always liked Batman, what little boy doesn't? 

But that day had been different in the most terrifying way. Because when he was watching Bruce Wayne train in the mountains, he wasn't thinking about how cool the fight sequences were. He was thinking about how fucking hot Christian Bale looked without a shirt on. 

That's when Mickey knew his life was going to be shit. 

There was just no room in the Milkovich house for a faggot. 

From that point on, his life was a high wire act. Always focused, always on guard. Never letting his mask slip for a single second. He played it off like he was a pussy hound like his brothers. He fucked Missy Pinkman when he was fourteen, and his father got him drunk on Russian Vodka to celebrate. 

He got good at lying. Pretending. He overcompensated for his clandestine gayness by being the meanest, loudest, craziest Milkovich around, after his father of course. His life was a steady stream of crime, drugs and nameless sluts. 

He was miserable. 

When he was fifteen, he did a four month stint in juvie for beating the shit out of a kid who owed him two hundred bucks for coke. While he was locked up, he got his first hummer from another guy. He doesn't even remember the kid's name, but he sure as shit remembers the feeling. He'd never felt that with a girl, that's for sure. He has to talk his dick into getting hard when a girl is on her knees for him. Pretty much beg his body to work. But with this kid, jesus, just one look and he was ready to go. 

So that was that. Mickey is a fag. 

After he came to terms with that fact, and the fact that he would have to hide his true self for the rest of his life, he was hit with another grisly realization: his fucking soulmate was a dude. 

From that point on, Mickey dreaded his sixteenth birthday. He didn't want a Mark. He didn't want a soulmate. There was no room for that stupid shit in his hellscape of a life. If his father found out, he'd kill Mickey with his bare hands. 

Besides, Mickey wasn't looking for love anyways. He wouldn't know it if he saw it, and he certainly wouldn't be able to reciprocate it. 

He woke up on the morning of his sixteenth birthday, gasping for air and covered in come. The dream had been easily the sexiest thing that had ever happened to him. He couldn't remember the finer details, but he does recall his body being wracked with pleasure, and his heart being full of love. He couldn't see his face, but he knew it was a man. Mickey could still feel the phantom burn of his fingers on his skin. 

He had looked down at his wrist, where the sensation was the hottest, surprised to find a large black ring around his wrist. He had turned his hand one way, then the other, his eyes taking in his Mark. 

It was clearly a hand print. Mickey could easily make out the separate fingers and thumb, long and delicate, circled around his wrist. He was relieved in that moment to realize there is no way anyone could tell it was a man's hand. Mickey could work with that. He could play it off like this was a woman's hand. No one would have to know the truth. 

Now, all he had to do was avoid his soulmate like the plague, and he just might live to see his next birthday. 

That was five years ago now, and Mickey's done a pretty good job of dodging his soulmate. He tells his father he's going to all these retarded matchmaking events, where random bitches put their hands on him to see if his Mark changes color, but he never really goes. Instead he heads down to one of the few gay bars he frequents in Boystown, gets his dick sucked and goes home. Then he pretends to be disappointed when he tells his father he hasn't found his Match. 

He's not sure how long he's going to be able to pull this shit off. Sooner or later the old man is gonna wise up and Mickey will catch the beating of his life. 

That's if he survives. 

He's sitting in his living room, smoking a cigarette and drinking a beer, eyeing his Mark disdainfully. It's a little after five on a Friday, and Mickey's trying to figure out what he wants to do with his evening. His father and Iggy have been out of town for weeks, and the Mickey likes to take advantage of his limited freedom when the opportunity strikes. He kind of wants to hit a bar, maybe get his rocks off real quick. It's been a minute since he's been with anyone, and he's got an itch jerking off just can't scratch. 

He's contemplating which bar would be cheapest when the front door swings open and his sister walks in. She's dressed in her stupid waitress uniform. Fucking too short skirt, too much cleavage, stupid bows in her hair. She looks like a slutty caricature of a waitress, but she makes bank in tips, so there's that. Mickey's not too keen on his little sister getting felt up by fat nasty truckers all day, but Mandy can handle her own. 

"Mick, I brought home some chicken fried steak, you hungry?" his sister asks, pulling her pigtails out and stuffing the ribbons in her apron pocket. She drops the styrofoam container on the coffee table and makes her way to the kitchen. She returns moments later with a beer of her own. 

Mickey is already tearing through the food. He's picking at the steak with his fingers, pointedly ignoring the green beans and corn bread. 

"God, is it too much work to get a fucking fork, you heathen?" Mandy grouses, taking a sip of her drink. 

Mickey just grunts in response, tearing a piece of steak off with his teeth. Mandy groans, leaning against the couch cushions. She lets him eat in peace for all of two seconds before she's talking again. 

"So, since Dad and Iggy are still MIA on that run, I thought I might go out tonight. You wanna come?" 

Mickey paused mid-chew, turning toward his sister with raised eyebrows. They didn't really hang out. She was a couple years younger than him, and they had different friends. Mickey didn't have friends, per say.

He had people he got fucked up with, or people he'd pull scams with. People he sold drugs to, or bought guns from. But no one that he hung out with just because he enjoyed their company. That seemed like a luxury Mickey couldn't afford in life. 

Mandy had always been the opposite. She was mostly exempt from the family business due to her vagina, and had always had a wide and varied circle of friends. She was the only Milkovich to ever graduate from high school, as well as the only one to move onto some kind of career training. She was in beauty school right now, working at the Oil Slick Truck Stop to pay her own way through school. 

Mickey would never say this, but he's pretty damn proud of her. 

Still, they don't just go around hanging out together like BFF's. 

"Why the fuck would I want to do that?" Mickey asks bluntly, tearing off another piece of meat and chewing it slowly.

Mandy squirmed on the couch, rubbing her Mark absentmindedly. Mandy's Mark was on her upper arm. Like someone accidentally brushed her in a line or tried to move around her in a crowded space. It was big and black, with no defining features. Not like Mickey's hand print at all. 

None of the Milkovich children had met their soulmate yet. Iggy had his own black mark, a single spot on his chest, like someone poked him hard with a single finger. The only person in their family to have a Mark with Colors was Terry. A small, delicate brush of color along his left hip. It was Mickey's mother's arm. She'd accidentally walked into Terry on the street outside a massage parlor, and the rest is history. 

Of course, after Magda had given Terry her life, her total and complete submission, and three children, Terry had killed her with his bare hands. His first Mark on her body was their soul bond mark, his last mark on her body was in the form of thick black bruises in the shape of his hands around her neck. 

Terry never faced any consequences for that crime. One day Mickey's mother was there, the next she was gone. Mickey remembers watching his father wrap Magda's body in a shower curtain and carry her out of the house like garbage. He never said anything, none of the kids did. They knew better than to rat, if they wanted to live. So the story was that Magda had run away. 

No one outside the family questioned it. No on even asked where Magda went. Soulmates cut and run sometimes, especially poor suckers stuck with assholes like Terry.

After that, Terry had become even more unhinged, even more cruel. Whatever calming effect his soul bond with Magda had on him dissipated like a fog once she was gone. Now Terry is nothing more than an abusive, violent criminal. All the children avoid him as best they can. He's thankfully not home much, too busy with his criminal enterprises to pay them much mind. 

"Mickey!" Mandy barks, waving her hand in front of his face. "What the fuck? I'm talking to you." 

Mickey shook his head, ridding himself of unwanted memories as he focuses on his sister once more. "What?" 

"I said it would be good for you to get out of the house." Mandy said, giving her brother a sympathetic look that set his teeth on edge. 

He doesn't need her pity. 

"I have to work tomorrow." Mickey replied tiredly. He finished off the rest of his steak, pushing the container away and grabbing his beer. He took a long sip, waiting out his sister. He's certain she's not done yet. 

"Why the hell does Gerald have you working weekends?" Mandy asks, clearly not ready to let this go. 

"People work weekends, Mands. You work weekends." Mickey replied, shrugging. He dropped his beer on the table and grabbed a cigarette, lighting it as he glared at his sister. "Just because you work nights and I work days doesn't mean I get Saturdays off." 

Mickey has been working For Gerald since his last stint in Juvie. It started out as a way to satisfy the conditions of his probation, and turned into a legit job that he didn't hate. He was a painter. It's not a glamorous job. He's not an artist or anything. He paints houses. Inside, outside, whatever. He does decks too, windows, fences. It's not his dream job, but it pays well and he doesn't ever have to bust anyone's kneecaps, so it's a step up from working with his father. 

"Come on, Mick." Mandy whined. She dropped her beer down and scooted closer to Mickey on the couch. She laid her head on his shoulder, speaking lowly between them. "There's a party at the Alibi tonight and everyone's gonna be there. Kev and Vee are doing some kind of Luau theme, half priced drinks, food, whatever. It could be a lot of fun, but I don't wanna go alone." 

Mickey scoffed, shaking his head. "Call up one of your girlfriends then, get them to get all whored up and hit the town. I'm not in the mood to be around a bunch of drunk assholes tonight." 

What Mickey didn't tell his sister was the fact that he had indeed planned to go out tonight, just not to the Alibi. He wanted to get his dick wet, and to do that he had to head to the other side of town. Of course, his sister didn't know that, since he was very much in the closet. No one in his family had the slightest inclination that he was into dudes. And it was going to stay that way. At least until Terry was locked up for life or six feet under. Whichever happened first, Mickey didn't care. 

"I already did, Mick. No one can come out. Please. I don't want to go alone. Remember what happened last time?" 

Mickey did remember what happened last time. Mandy had gone out to some sports bar on her night off. She had gotten a little tipsy and called Mickey to ask him to swing by and walk her home. Of course Mickey headed out immediately, even though he had to be up early the next morning. 

By the time he'd gotten to the bar, he found some random prick trying to pull his sister into the alley beside the bar. No one on the street had even bothered to stop, surely convinced it was a lover's spat. 

Mickey had decked the asshole, sent him sprawling onto the dirty concrete, bleeding and woozy. He'd taken Mandy home and they hadn't spoken of it again. 

Until right now. 

"I don't want to go out alone Mick. I can take care of myself, but that shit was scary. Please, just a couple of hours." Mandy gave him her saddest puppy eyes, and Mickey internally cursed her for being so damn good at manipulating him. 

"Fine." he sighed, polishing off his beer and standing to grab another. "A few hours, Mands. I'm serious. I really do have to work tomorrow." 

Mandy jumped up from the couch, hopping on Mickey's back and ruffling his hair with her free hand. "Thanks Mick!" she bellowed as Mickey spun around in the kitchen, trying to dislodge her without injury. 

"Bitch, get off." Mickey grumbled, failing to hide his grin. Mandy jumped off and bounded toward her bedroom. 

"I'm gonna change, be ready in twenty." 

"Whatever." Mickey replied. He doesn't know how she does it, but Mandy always gets her way in the end.

 

***

 

"Ian, where are you going?" 

Ian sighed, pulling his shirt over his head and turning to face his sister. Fiona was standing in the doorway of his bedroom, arms crossed over her chest, a concerned look on her face. Ian hated that look. She got that look in her eyes every time Ian left the house, unless he was going to work. 

It's like she doesn't trust him anymore, and that makes him really sad. Sure, he had a rough time of it a few years ago. He doesn't like to think about it. The stripping, the drugs, the sex with random strangers. The loss of his first love. He doesn't like to think about how scared Fiona was, how worried. He doesn't like to think about how he put her through hell. He's doing the best he can to never put her through that shit again. 

But it's hard to remember all that when she's looking at him like he already fucked up. Like she'll never really trust him again. 

Ian looks at her, really looks at her. She looks tired. Long hours at the diner followed by longer hours keeping the household afloat has taken it's toll on her. She's gotten better since she met Jimmy, but it's still a lot for her, even with his help.

Fiona was the first of his siblings to meet her soulmate. Ian can recall with vivid clarity the day she rushed home to share the news. She'd brought him with her, this man she just met. Someone she accidentally bumped into in line for coffee. She had excitedly shown everyone the spot on her shoulder blade, that had been pitch black since the day Ian was born, now bloomed in pinks and greens and blues, like a tie dyed tapestry on her skin. Jimmy had his matching Mark, of course, on his chest, right at the spot where she touched him moments later. 

Ian had been so jealous in that moment, his fingers finding their way to his own black mark. He had to remind himself back then that he wasn't ready yet. He wasn't good enough yet. He had to stick to his plan, he had to keep working to get better. Only then would he be ready to meet his Match. 

Since Fiona met Jimmy and her Mark changed, Fiona has been on Ian and Lip both to find their Match. She says she's worried about them, reiterating the stories of mateless people going mad or falling out of society. She's afraid Ian will have to go on yet more medication, to protect himself from the side effects of living without his Match. She doesn't understand Ian's reasoning, convinced that his soulmate will love him regardless of his diagnosis. 

Ian's not so sure. 

"Just going out with Lip to the Luau at the Alibi. Are you not going?" Ian said, checking his reflection in the mirror. He fiddled with his hair, unhappy with the way it laid on his head. 

"I can't. We have dinner plans with Jimmy's parents." Fiona sighed. She didn't like Jimmy's parents, and with good reason. They were stuck up assholes, and Ian gets a really creepy vibe from his dad, Lloyd. 

"Oh, well, that's too bad." Ian replied, secretly pleased. He didn't need his sister breathing down his neck when he was trying to relax. He loves Fiona dearly, but sometimes he just wants to let loose without his pseudo-mom watching him like a hawk. 

"Yeah, well. Don't drink too much, and no hard drugs. You know how that shit fucks with your meds." Fiona reminded him. Like he'd forget.

"Fi, come on." Ian said, giving her a reassuring smile. "You know I've been doing good for a long time. You can trust me." 

Fiona smiled back, nodding. "I know. I just worry. Can't help it." 

Ian understood that. He gave her a quick hug before moving to step around her. "It's gonna be fine. Just another random Friday." 

He could hear Fiona chuckling as he made his way down the stairs. Lip was already waiting in the living room, smoking a cigarette and scrolling through his phone. He glanced up when he heard Ian descend the stairs. He stood, pocketing his phone. "You ready?" 

"Yeah, let's go." 

Lip lead them out of the house and down the sidewalk. It was only a few minutes to the bar and the brothers spent the time smoking and chatting about nothing in particular. 

"I'm gonna get as many chicks as possible to touch my Mark tonight." Lip said suddenly, taking Ian by surprise. Ian and Lip don't really talk about their Marks or their soulmates. Lip knows how Ian feels about his, how he's not ready to meet him, and usually Lip is respectful of that and doesn't bring it up. 

Ian has to wonder what changed. 

"Yeah? What brought that on?" Ian asks as casually as he can muster. "And how do you plan on accomplishing that? I mean, it's not like your Mark is on your hand or something." 

Lip chuckled, it was true after all. Lip's mark was a deep black spot on his left foot, like someone stomped on his toes or something. "You just can't walk up to a pretty lady and ask her to step on you." 

"Why not?" Lip countered. "That's what all those soulmate meet and greets are for. You just let random strangers touch you, hoping to get your Colors. How would it be any different if I just cut out the middle man?" 

"Okay." Ian laughed, taking a drag off his cigarette before passing it to his brother. "But don't you think all these events and websites and shit are taking the fate out of it? Like, meeting your soulmate is supposed to be an organic, natural thing. You're supposed to be brought together by something greater than either of you. Don't you think these events and websites and shit take away the magic of it all?" 

"Says the guy that's been actively avoiding meeting his Match for almost five years." Lip shot back, shaking his head.

"You know why." Ian replied lowly, unable to mask the hurt in his voice. 

"Dude, I didn't mean it like that." Lip said, grabbing Ian's arm. He pulled his brother to a stop in the middle of the sidewalk. "I'm gonna say this again, even though I tell you all the fucking time. There is nothing wrong with you. Your soulmate will be lucky to have you. I guarantee you, whoever this guy is, he's gonna have his own shit too. But that's the whole point of soulmates, Ian. You build each other up, help each other become the best version of yourself possible. You love each other through the good times and support each other through the bad times." 

Ian nodded, shaking his arm loose and continuing down the street, Lip right behind him. "Can I ask, what brought all this on?" Ian hasn't heard Lip talk about soulmates in god knows how long. Ian wasn't even sure Lip was pursuing his. 

"Had a dream." Lip replied quietly. That got Ian's attention. People are known to have vivid dreams of their Match on the night they get their Mark. The dreams come and go while you are waiting to meet your Match, but it is said they increase in frequency and vividness as you get closer to meeting your Match. 

"A dream, or dreams, Lip?" Ian asks, excited on his brother's behalf. 

"A few dreams, over the past few weeks." Lip admitted as they finally came upon the bar. "So I guess I've just been seeing the whole thing through different eyes. We all have someone out there meant just for us, Ian. Just for us, just the way we are. You don't have to change for your soulmate. I just want you to know that." 

Ian smiled, gripping his brother's shoulder in his palm. He could always count on Lip to say the one thing he needed to hear the most. "Thanks man. I hope you meet her soon. She'll be lucky to have you." 

Lip grinned, shoving Ian away. "Eh, enough of this girly bullshit. Let's get a beer." 

Ian laughed, nodding as he followed his brother into the bar. 

 

***

 

Mickey is regretting his decision to accompany Mandy to the bar tonight. She had pretty much strong armed him into joining her under the pretense of them spending time together, when in reality he was just here to be her bodyguard, and get her home safe. 

She'd left him at the bar over an hour ago, melting into the sea of gyrating bodies on the dance floor. Mickey hasn't seen her in quite a while now, and he's sitting at the bar by himself, tossing back shots and waiting as patiently as possible for Mandy to get bored so they can go back home. There's no telling when Terry will show up again, and Mickey wants to hide his money and his weed before that useless old fuck comes back and ganks his shit. 

Mickey tosses back his forth shot, grimacing at the burn. He drops the empty glass down on the bar, knocking on the glossy wood to get Kev's attention. Kev saunters over with a goofy grin. He's wearing a ridiculously loud Hawaiian shirt, and has a big fake lei around his neck. 

Mickey thinks he looks pretty fucking stupid. 

"Another." Mickey says, pulling out his wallet. 

"This one's on me, man." Kev replies, confusing Mickey. He quickly fills Mickey's glass with Jameson, grinning the whole time. 

"What?" Mickey barks, irritated. He doesn't know what this asshole is playing at, but it's pissing him off. 

"Your sister told me you came out here tonight to protect her from predators. That's just really cool." 

"My sister needs to learn to keep her fat mouth shut." Mickey groused. "Two drinks in that bitch and she's spilling her guts to anyone that'll listen." 

"No worries, man. I won't tell anyone you actually have a heart. Your secret's safe with me." Kev laughed, throwing his towel over his shoulder and moving on to the next patron. 

Mickey scoffed at Kev's retreating back. Motherfucker thinks he's so funny. 

Just then the door opened and two men walked in. Mickey recognized them from around the neighborhood, but can't remember their names. His eyes travel from the short one with the stupid poofy hair, to the taller of the pair. Sweet jesus, that body. That hair. That face. Mickey could feel his pulse quicken as he continued to stare at the guy. 

Not good. Not good at all. 

This is Mickey's neighborhood. This is his bar. The only one he goes to on the south side. The only one he feels remotely comfortable in. It's hard to find a place around here that doesn't look down on Mickey for his last name. Kev and Vee have always been welcoming, never giving him a hard time for his shitty attitude or his asshole father's legacy. The last thing he needs is to start running into some insanely hot boner-inducing prick in the one place in the whole neighborhood he feels like he belongs. 

Much to Mickey's horror, the duo sit down right next to him. He glances away, his eyes searching for his sister on the dance floor. He finds her grinding up on some dude and settles in to watch her like a weirdo until the ginger motherfucker and his friend move on and he can relax again. 

"Hey Kev." the lemur looking one says. "Can we get two Old Styles?" 

"Sure thing, Lip." Kev replies. Mickey can hear the bartender moving around, getting two beers out of the cooler and popping the tops. Mickey keeps his eyes on his sister, but his ears trained on the conversation happening next to him. 

"Glad you guys could make it. Fiona said she wasn't sure. Haven't seen either of you in fucking forever." 

"Yeah, well, she's with Jimmy and his yuppie family tonight, so it just us." the red head laughs. Kev laughs back. 

"Well, two Gallaghers are better than none, I suppose." 

Gallaghers? 

These two guys are Gallaghers. 

Now that Mickey has the name, he can place these two easily. Much like the Milkovichs are notorious around the south side, the Gallaghers are famous in their own right. Mostly for their batshit crazy parents. 

Mickey remembers Frank having dealings with Terry before he killed himself with booze. If Mickey remembers correctly, both the parents are dead now, leaving the Gallagher siblings orphans. 

Lucky them. 

He's heard of their antics. Scams they pulled to put food on the table, times they got over on DCFS or the cops. He even heard the older one, Lip, had been busted for GTA back in the day. Although looking at him now, it seems those stories were gross exaggerations. This kid looks about as street tough as a calico kitten. And his brother looks like one of those whiny bitch bottom twinks in the gay pornos Mickey definitely doesn't watch. 

They're just a couple of neighborhood guys looking to let loose on a Friday night, just like everyone else in the bar. There is no reason for Mickey to still be listening to their conversation like some kind of stalker.  


But he does. He sits there for god knows how long, listening to Kev talk to Lip and Ian. (Ian is his name. Once Mickey hears it, he knows he knows this kid. He's kind of ghetto famous for loosing his shit is spectacular fashion a few years back. (Why are all the sexiest ones crazy?) Lip is telling them about some fucked up soulmate dream he's been having for a couple weeks now. 

Mickey is disappointed that their conversation is about Lip's would-be soulmate. It seems that no matter where he goes, or what he's doing, all anyone ever wants to talk about is their soulmate. It irritates Mickey to no end. Is this really all there is to life anymore? Can't anyone talk about sports or movie or fucking music? Hell, Mickey would prefer talking politics instead of listening to Philip fucking Gallagher talk about his wet dreams. 

Soulmates ruin everything. Even basic conversation is nearly impossible. 

Mickey bangs his hand on the bar, grabbing Kev's attention. "One more for the road, I'm grabbing Mands and getting the fuck outta here." 

"Really?" Kev asks, sounding surprised. Both Gallagher brothers are watching him now, and it takes all his self control not to tell them to mind their own fucking business. "You just got here, man. Your sister seems to be having a lot of fun." 

Mickey glances over to Mandy. She's still dancing, one hand holding her beer, the other raised high over her head as she sways her hips to the beat. "I told her when we came here that I could only stay for a little while. She's gonna have to live with disappointment." 

"Is that Mandy Milkovich?" Ian asks, eyeing Mickey before turning to watch Mandy dance. 

"Who the fuck's asking?" Mickey replies, even though he knows who Ian is. He's not sure why he plays it off like they are strangers, but he does. Something about the redhead puts him on edge. 

"I'm Ian." Ian says, and Mickey keeps his face as passive as possible. 

"And?" Mickey replies, just as Mandy bounds over, empty beer in here hand. 

"Mick! Dance with me." 

Mickey tears his eyes away from Ian and glances over at his sister like she grew a second head. "How fucking drunk are you if you think that's even a remote possibility?" 

Mandy pouts. Full on arms crossed over her chest, stomping her feet, lips pursed pouting. "You are no fun. Like ever. You are the worst wing man in the history of the world and I hate you." 

"That's the Jager talking." Mickey smiles, shaking his head. "You know you can't live without me." 

"Mandy?" Ian asks, standing from his stool and stepping up to Mickey's sister. It takes Mandy a minute to focus on Ian's face in her inebriated state, but once she figures out who he is, she lets loose an ear splitting squeal. 

"Iaaaaan!" Mandy crows, jumping into Ian's open arms. He swings her around in a wide circle, right in the middle of the bar. Mickey watches their ridiculous display with bored detachment. 

Of course she'd know him. 

"Oh my god. Mandy." Ian smiles, finally putting her back down on her feet. "It's been forever. How are you?"

"Good." Mandy smiles. She turns toward Mickey, swaying a little on the spot. Mickey's hand shoots out to steady her, but Ian's already got her by the shoulder. "Mick, this is Ian, my fake high school boyfriend." 

Mickey's brow furrowed at the statement, but he lets it go. His sister says weird shit when she's drunk. 

"Yeah, okay. Nice to meet you." he replies, not meeting Ian's eyes. There's something off about the way Ian's watching him, and it makes him profoundly uncomfortable. He gently pulls Mandy to his side with a hand around her wrist. "C'mon, Mands, I said a couple hours, and it's been more than three." 

"NO!" Mandy whines, trying to extricate herself from Mickey's grasp. "I don't wanna go. I wanna stay." 

"She, uh, she could stay with us." Ian says, trying to give Mickey a reassuring smile. He's sure he missed the mark when all he gets in return is an angry scowl. 

"No, she can't." Mickey replies tersely. He doesn't know these guys, not really. And no matter how sexy the ginger kid is, he's not about to trust some random neighborhood dick with his baby sister. He pulls his sister away and starts leading her grumpy ass toward the door. 

"Wait!" she bellows, stopping Mickey mid-stride. "Gimme your number at least." she's holding her phone out to Ian. Ian takes it, quickly jotting his number into her contacts and saving it for her. "We're gonna hang out." Mandy decides, giving Ian no room for argument. "You miss me." 

"I do." Ian agreed, chuckling. 

Ian watched as Mickey lead his sister out of the bar and into the Chicago night. He can't ignore the strange excitement stirring in his stomach.

Ian has no idea what it means, but he's not eager to lose the feeling. 

 

***

 

The whole way back to their house, Mickey can't shake Ian fucking Gallagher from his mind. He hasn't ever really thought about the kid at all. He knows of him, like people in the neighborhood know of each other. 

Like everyone knows Mickey's been to juvie, or everyone knows Iggy broke his leg running from the cops that time. Mickey knows that Ian dropped out of school a couple years after he did. He knows this because Mandy was in his grade and they were friends. But then Ian got sick. Not like cancer or diabetes or whatever, like sick in the head. He dropped out of school and Mandy stopped talking about him all together. 

The more he thinks about it, the more random information he recalls about Ian. Shit he's heard over the years, but never really thought about. Like how Mickey heard through the ghetto grapevine that Ian was a fag. Like bonafide, out and proud, pride parade, Born this Way Gay. He heard a few really fucked up stories about Ian and another neighborhood kid, Pete Walters. Some sad sack shit about star-crossed queer lovers. Pete ended up kicking Ian's ass when Ian wanted him to come out of the closet. Pete told everyone Ian hit on him, and Pete laid him out for his faggy presumption. But the truth never stays buried for long on the south side, and soon everyone knew that Pete was just as queer as Ian, just too much of a chickenshit to own it. 

Mickey could relate. 

Not long after that, Pete was gone. Moved to Fort Lauderdale to live with his dad. Ian disappeared for a while after that, and the word on the street was he checked into Cook County Psych on suicide watch. 

Ian must really be crazy to want to off himself over a piece of shit like Pete Walters. 

Ian could do better. 

Not that it's any of Mickey's business. Clearly. 

"Mickeeeeey." Mandy whined as Mickey propped her up against the railing so he could open their front door. "I wanted to stay. I wanted to dance with Ian. I miss Ian." 

"I get it." Mickey grumbled, finally getting the door open. "But we said we'd come home, I'm sorry Mands, I gotta work. We talked about this." 

Mandy was mumbling something under her breath, but Mickey wasn't listening, intent on getting his sister inside so they could go the fuck to sleep. He had to work in less than six hours. 

All that changed, however, when he finally got her inside. The lights were on in the living room, the entire house trashed.

The living room was a mess, a lamp knocked over, broken light bulb shards all over the floor. The last of Mickey's beers were spread along the table, garbage and food all over the floor. There were two long lines of white powder on the coffee table. Coke, meth. Whatever. 

Mickey's heart sank, thudding painfully in his chest. 

His brother looked up when he heard them come in. Iggy gave them both a look of warning before his eyes fell to their father. Iggy's message was clear. 

Tread lightly.

Terry was back. 

Fuck.


	2. Soiree

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Life throws some unexpected curve balls when Ian and Mickey separately attend the same MateMatch event.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i hope this is not too confusing. i'm making the universe up on the fly, and though it makes perfect sense in my twisted cerebellum, i'm afraid it might not translate to the wider world so well....

Ian can't seem to get his shit together. Ever since that night at the Alibi, he's been feeling off in a way he can't describe. It's not his disorder, he's sure of at least that much. He's not having mood swings, not too much energy, not too little. 

He's taking his meds, he's sticking to his routine. He's seeing his shrink and writing in his damn mood journal. 

But still, something's just not right. He feels like he's always anticipating something. Like he's waiting for some metaphorical 'other shoe' to drop. 

What he's waiting for? He couldn't even guess. 

His dreams are also becoming increasingly intense. They're not all happy like the sexy ones he's been having recently. Some of these dreams are downright dark. Scary shit. Of course, there are no details, but he can tell that something is very wrong. Wrong with his soulmate. 

He's suffering. Ian has no idea how he knows that, but he can feel it deep in his bones. In his dreams, which are more like nightmares, Ian's not even sure he's there. It feels more like Ian's observing from outside the situation. It's just this man, his faceless soulmate, hurt and scared. Ian can do nothing to help him. Ian can do nothing but watch him suffer, helpless and impotent. 

Ian has no idea what has changed, but something has, and he can't seem to put it out of his mind for even one moment. 

"Gallagher." Sue barks from the front seat. Ian's head whips up and he realizes he's been taking this patient's blood pressure for almost a full minute. 

"Uh." Ian looks at the device, calling out the numbers. "Seventy over forty." he takes in the rest of the man's symptoms. "Low respiration, pupils constricted. Opiate overdose." Ian decides, taking in the track marks up and down the man's arms. "Administering Naloxone." Ian said, pulling the cap off the medication and sticking it in the man's IV's line. The liquid was fast acting and the man on the gurney jerked, gasping. 

"Mr. Wexler, you're going to be just fine." Ian said in his calmest voice. "Do you remember what happened?" 

The man looked at Ian with tears in his eyes, shaking through his instantaneous withdrawal symptoms. "She left me." he says, breath hitching. Ian's eyes catch on the man's Mark. The gentle brush of fingertips along his hairline, tinted red and yellow, like someone brushed a lock of hair out of his eyes. "She's gone." 

"I'm sorry, sir." Ian says, not knowing what else to say. 

"She's dead." the man wails. "I want to be with her." 

Ian nods sympathetically, wishing he could give the man a sedative. But it's not safe after the overdose. 

"I want my Mary." the man weeps. Ian reaches down, laying his hand over the patient's, giving this broken man silent comfort when words fail him. 

Ian sits quietly with the man while Sue speeds them toward the hospital. He can't stop thinking about what the man said. How he doesn't want to live without his soulmate. Is this what everyone talks about? The soulmate going batshit after losing their Match? This man is clearly in pain, and there is no relief in sight. Even though Ian saved his life tonight, Ian is afraid it's only a matter of time before Mr. Wexler joins his Mary in the afterlife. 

Long after Ian and Sue hand off the man to the staff at Mercy Hospital, the man's words ring in Ian's ears and haunt his thoughts. 

Is that what he has to look forward to, if he keeps avoiding his Match? 

 

***

 

Mickey's not feeling right. Something is very off with him, and he's afraid he knows what the issues is. 

He's not sure, of course. He's making an educated guess based on the available evidence. 

What he does know is that his life has been turned upside down ever since he crossed paths with Ian fucking Gallagher. 

It's been nothing but a steady stream of odd dreams and inconvenient boners since that chance encounter at the Alibi. He can't get the fucking kid out of his head. He thinks about him before bed. He thinks about him while he's at work. He dreams about him at night and wakes up covered in come like a god damn preteen. It's fucking embarrassing. 

Mickey has an inkling what that means, and it scares the shit out of him. 

This is what he's been fearing since he first got his Mark. 

Honestly, that's not the only issue he's been having. Terry's unexpected return after being gone for months has really taken a toll on Mickey's sanity. After living in a world of make believe where he could pretend his father didn't exist for almost six months, coming home to find him sitting in the living room had been shocking to say the least. 

The night they got back, Terry had drank his body weight in booze, shitting all over anything and everything he could think of until he passed out on the couch in all his clothes. He was pissed there was no decent food in the house. He was pissed Mandy and Mickey didn't clean the house to his standards. He was angry that Mickey and Mandy had legit jobs, instead of continuing the family business in his absence. 

He was angry most of all that in the half a year he'd been gone, apparently cooking and shooting meth in New Mexico with the Aryan Brotherhood, that his two youngest children had made no attempts to find their soulmate. 

That seems to be where the old man is picking up this morning, as Mickey moves around the kitchen, getting ready for work. 

He's only been back in town for a week, and already Mickey's life is hell. 

Terry has not been to sleep yet, that much is obvious. The house is trashed, empty liquor bottles are strewn all over the living room and kitchen. Mickey has to move two half empty handles of whiskey to get to the coffee maker. His father is shooting meth in the living room, grumbling to himself the whole time. Mickey is doing his best to not draw attention to himself, barely breathing as he makes his coffee for work. 

It doesn't work. Terry saunters into the kitchen, looming over Mickey with wide, crazy eyes. 

"Tell Mandy to clean this fucking pigsty." Terry demands, grabbing a fresh beer from the fridge. 

Mickey nods, but says nothing. It's best not to engage his father when he's on crystal. He's even more volatile and unpredictable than usual. 

Of course, Mickey's lack of response only infuriates his father further.

"Where the fuck do you think you're going?" Terry barks. Mickey stiffens but doesn't turn around. He adds some sugar to his coffee, screwing the cap on his travel mug. 

"Work." Mickey replies quietly. 

"Look at me, boy." Terry growls. 

Mickey takes a deep breath, trying his damnedest to calm himself. He can't show his father any fear. He turns toward his father, looking him in the eye, waiting. 

"You think you're better than me?" Terry asks, his voice deceptively quiet. 

"What? No." Mickey shook his head. He took a single step toward the living room, intent on grabbing his cigarettes and phones off the coffee table and getting the fuck outta there. 

Terry moved quickly for an old man on so many drugs. He had his hand around Mickey's throat before Mickey could blink. He pressed him up against the kitchen counter hard, breathing his whiskey breath right in Mickey's face. 

"What makes you think you're too good for the family business, huh? You think you're special? You think you're too good for runs with your ol' man? Your fucking brother? You get off on ruining my reputation? Some asshole clock puncher. Fuck you." 

Mickey clawed at Terry's hand, gasping for breath. He was getting dizzy, kicking his feet as his father kept him suspended above the floor with a single hand. Mickey tried to shake his head, but Terry's grip was so tight, he could barely breathe, never mind move. 

"You're a fuck up." Terry spat. "There's something wrong with you. Turning your back on the family business. You don't give a shit about finding your Mate. You too good for that too? Too good to follow the natural law? You fucked in the head, you little asshole? I feel bad for your Mate. You're probably doing the poor little bitch a favor by avoiding her. But I won't have no god damn freak for a son. You are going to start going on jobs with Iggy again, and you are gonna start looking for your god damn soulmate. I don't want my associates thinking I have a fucking freakshow for a kid. You hear me?" 

Mickey did manage to nod then. Terry smirked at him, releasing his hand and dropping Mickey to the floor. Mickey landed on his knees, coughing and choking. He rubbed his neck, trying to recirculate the blood. 

Of course that was the moment Iggy decided to wake from his drug-induced coma. He stumbled into the kitchen, rubbing his eyes tiredly. 

"Everything cool in here?" Iggy asks carefully. He takes in the scene before him with wide eyes, but wisely doesn't move to help Mickey. 

That would only make things worse, of course. 

"Mind your business." Terry spat, shouldering Iggy out of the way and moving back to the living room without another word. 

Once it was clear that Terry wouldn't be doubling back to dole out more beatings, Iggy moved to help Mickey stand. 

"You good?" Iggy asks quietly. Mickey gave him the smallest nod, grabbing his coffee mug and leaving the kitchen without another word. He quickly grabbed his phone and keys off the coffee table, ignoring his father, who already had a needle stuck in his arm. He was two steps from the door when Terry spoke again, chilling Mickey to the bone. 

"I want to use your car when you get back from your faggot job. I have real work to do, you motherfucker. Be here by three." 

"Dad, I don't know when I'll be done." 

"Be here by three." Terry repeated. "Or you won't have a fucking car by this time tomorrow. I'll torch that shitbox. Don't fucking test me." 

"Yeah, okay." Mickey said, knowing better than to argue. 

"And I signed you three assholes up for a MateMatch event. I won't have a bunch of Mateless freaks in my family. You kids are gonna find your god damn soulmates, and that's fucking final. Now get outta my sight." 

Mickey pinched his eyes shut, swallowing hard. He gave his father another tight nod and left the house as quickly as possible. 

He worried about leaving Mandy alone, asleep in the house. But he knew Iggy wouldn't let Terry anywhere near her in his condition. He trusts Iggy to protect her just like he does. 

Besides, someone has to make money in this family. Mandy works, but her pay at the diner is not nearly enough to support the whole family. Iggy's work is all illegal, and Terry keeps most of the profits from their illicit endeavors. So it's up to Mickey to keep the lights on. 

He jumps in his crappy old Ford station wagon and turns the key. The early May sun is beating down on him already and he wishes he'd remembered his god damn sunglasses. Having Terry return unexpectedly has him all fucked up. 

He feels like he's losing his mind. 

As he drive toward the job site, his mind keeps going back to what his father said about the MateMatch event. Jesus fucking christ, that's the last thing he needs. He's not even sure why it's so important to his father that his kids find their soulmates. If Mickey had to guess, he'd assume that it was for the same reason he wouldn't ever want his kid to marry someone of a different race, or be gay. Because Terry is an intolerant dick who hates anything outside his own narrow scope of what's 'normal'. Mickey's certain the thought never crossed Terry's mind that one of their soulmates could be black or hispanic. And he's absolutely positive it never occurred to Terry either that one of his kids could be gay. 

Not a Milkovich. No fucking way. 

But that is exactly the situation Mickey finds himself in. And now that his father is back, and intent on all three of his kids finding their Mates, Mickey is sadly certain his time is running out.

He can't think of a single scenario where he makes it out of this shit alive. 

 

***

 

"Please tell me you're joking." Ian sighs. He falls down on his bed and glares at his brother, who is standing in the doorway with a smug grin on his face. 

"What?" Lip asks, shrugging. "It won't kill you to go, and it would make Fiona happy. She signed us both up. Said it would be good for us to, and I quote, 'see what's out there.'" 

"She needs to cut the shit and let us live our lives, man. It's not fair of her to put so much pressure on us. See, this is exactly why I've been talking about moving out. I can't deal with this shit anymore." 

Lip chuckled, making his way into Ian's room and sitting next to him on the bed. "Don't you think you're being a bit melodramatic here, Ian?" 

"No." Ian said, sitting up in a huff and crossing his arms over his chest. "You don't understand. No one does. You don't have the same issues I do. And neither does Fiona. You think I don't want to find him? You think I'm not tired of dating guys I know will never be him? You think I'm not tired of meaningless sex and relationships that go nowhere? You think I'm not tired of everyone always asking me why I'm not with him?" 

"Ian, come on man. It's not that serious." Lip replies quietly, slinging his arm around Ian's shoulder. "It's one MateMatch event. Just a few hours of your life. That way we can both tell Fi we're trying any she'll get off our backs for a little while." 

"Why does she care so much?" Ian replied, shaking his head. "It's like ever since she met Jimmy, finding our soulmates is the only thing she cares about. I have other shit I want to do, you know. Get my own place, maintain my stability, maybe get my paramedic license. Why is none of that shit good enough? Only this one thing matters to her." 

"Ian, it matters to everyone." Lip said. "It's just one of those things we're all expected to do. And if we don't, people assume there is something wrong with us. I'm not saying I agree with it, but it is what it is. Besides, you know just as well as I do what happens to people when they don't meet their Mates. And I don't want that to happen to you, Ian. You're dealing with so much already." 

"But it's my choice, Lip." Ian insisted. "Or it should be. I can't even control this one thing? If I say I'm not ready, that should be enough for her. And you." 

"We're just trying to help, Ian. I don't want to see you back in that hospital. That's what happens to people without soulmates. I don't want to lose you, especially when it's totally preventable." 

Ian sighed, pulling away from his brother and throwing himself down on the bed again. He glared up at the stained ceiling, angry at being strong armed by his siblings. "Fine, whatever. Tell the warden I'll go to this stupid fucking event. But I don't want to hear a single word about soulmates for like a month after this." 

Lip grinned, reaching over and ruffling Ian's hair. "Sure thing, chief. Now get dressed, we gotta get all the way over to the west side for this shit. Jimmy's letting us take the Mercedes." 

Ian nodded, standing from his bed and moving toward his closet. Lip left him to it and Ian was alone with his thoughts as he sorted through his clothes. 

Ian understands what Fiona is trying to do. He's sure finding his soulmate would be an amazing thing, for him. But Ian's still not sure he's enough for his Mate. He's been working hard, hasn't had any real slips in a long time, but the sad fact of the matter is he's still scared he's not good enough. 

He's scared he never will be. 

But he can do this one thing for his sister. Even if it amounts to nothing. 

Because Ian's pretty damn sure he's not going to meet Mr. Handprints at a MateMatch event. 

 

***

 

"This is bullshit." Mickey muttered, following his siblings into the bar. They were in the ballroom at the Chicago Sheridan West, getting ready for the MateMatch event to start. 

"Whatever, Mickey." Mandy said, sliding up to the bar and waving down the bartender. "It won't kill you to be social for one night. Besides, even if you don't meet your soulmate, you could meet a good-enough girl for the night. You need to get laid, you've been insufferable these past few weeks." 

"You mean since Dad came home?" Mickey retorted. "I can't imagine why." 

"You're not the only one that's been dealing with his bullshit." Mandy replied as the bartender finally walked over. She ordered a gin and tonic, the brothers got beers. The siblings make their way over to a booth in the back and sit down. 

"I don't know why you're so resistant anyway, Mick." Iggy said, sipping his beer. "Me and Mands at least go out and try to find our soulmates. You talk about going to the bars and shit, but I never see you bring anyone home. Are you even letting any of the sluts you fuck at these bars touch your Mark?" 

"That's not how it's supposed to work, Igg." Mickey sighed, unsure if explaining this to his brother is even worth his time. "They set up these MateMatch events, people pay through the nose to get in, and then they let random strangers touch their Marks. Do you know how many people actually meet their soulmates this way? Like one in a thousand or some shit. It's supposed to just happen. A brush against someone in the grocery store. Or an accidental touch on the bus or walking down the sidewalk. You're not supposed to seek it out. You're supposed to wait for it to happen naturally. Like fate or whatever. That's the point of all of this, right? But that's not good enough for anyone anymore. It's all instant gratification now. And these MatchMeet events are big business. No one ever stops to think if it works or not. They're so hung up on that hope, the reality of the situation doesn't matter. It's a fucking scam is what it is." 

Mandy scoffed, shaking her head. "You are so negative." 

"Look it up, bitch." Mickey laughed. He's relieved he's seemed to have turned the conversation away from his own soulmate predicament and onto bigger issues. The last thing he wants to talk about is his own problems. 

Sometimes he wishes he could just tell them the truth. He's certain neither Iggy nor Mandy would give a shit that he's gay. But he can't risk them knowing. God forbid Terry found out, and figured out either of them knew. He'd kill them too, dumping them in a shallow grave by the river right next to Mickey's body. 

So he keeps his shit to himself. To protect all of them. It's the only way. 

The siblings then lost themselves in a long conversation about their secret plans to get away from Terry. It was all just talk at this point, mostly just crazy ramblings to make them feel like they had some actual control in the situation. Shit like moving to New York and opening a tattoo shop, or starting a high end escort business and getting a penthouse on the north side. It was ridiculous, but it took their mind off their home life and gave them something better to focus on, even if only for a little while. 

They were laughing so hard, they didn't notice they were being watched. 

A chill ran down Mickey's spine and he shivered. He shook off the odd feeling, bringing his beer to his lips. He tried to pay attention to whatever Iggy and Mandy were arguing about, but all of the sudden he felt out of sorts and scatterbrained. Like he needed to get up right now. 

Where he was supposed to go, he had no idea. 

He did his best to ignore the strange feeling, even as it grew more difficult by the moment.

 

***

 

"How long do we have to stay?" Ian asks, sipping his whiskey at the bar. His brother chuckled, shaking his head. 

"We just got here, asshole, just relax."

Ian huffed but said nothing. He took another sip of his drink, turning in his seat to take in the crowd around him. Ian's not even sure how these events works. It kinda feels like a scam if he's being honest. 

Fiona paid a hundred bucks a head for Lip and Ian to get into this event. Two hundred dollars, and for what? Ian doesn't even know how he's supposed to find receptive guys in this place. It looks like a hetero event, and what the fuck good would that be to Ian? Is he really just supposed to walk up to some random stranger, expose his chest, and ask them to place their hands on him?

No fucking thank you. 

"This is bullshit." Ian says, rolling his eyes. 

"With an attitude like that, you won't have any fun." his brother responded, punching Ian's arm. "Let's just have a few beers, hit the buffet, and then we'll bounce. Tell Fiona we tried, but struck out." 

Ian glanced over at his brother, eyebrows raised. "I thought you wanted to get a bunch of girls to touch your Mark?" 

"Eh." Lip shrugged, smirking. "Let's forget all that shit tonight. We've got all the time in the world." 

Ian smiled back, knowing full well what Lip was doing. He was sticking by Ian, like he always did. If Ian didn't want to do the MateMatch event, Lip wasn't going to either.

"Nah, come on Lip." Ian said, sipping his drink. "Go on, mingle or whatever. I will too, I promise. I just need a little liquid courage." it's still a strange feeling for Ian, being self-conscious. He used to be so sure of himself, unafraid to go out and take what he wants. But since his diagnosis, his self-esteem has taken a serious hit, and he just can't seem to get his confidence back. 

"You sure? I could hang out here for a while." Lip says, his eyes already scanning the women milling around the room. 

"I'm sure, Lip." Ian smiles, nodding. With that his brother wanders off into the crowd and Ian's left alone with his thoughts. 

He's not sure what's up with him tonight, but he feels off in a way he can't quite explain. Nervous, maybe. Anxious. He gets like this sometimes now, feeling off-kilter all of the sudden. He even has panic attacks now and again. But this doesn't feel like all that. It's like a low-grade electricity is humming just under his skin, and he's on edge. Like he's waiting for something, but doesn't know what. 

He ignores the feeling, focusing instead on draining his drink and moving toward the bar to get another. 

He hopes after he catches a bit of a buzz, he'll get over whatever this feeling is, and maybe even talk to some people at this event. 

Looking around, however, Ian is fairly certain this whole thing was a waste of time and money. His gaydar is not pinging at all in this place. He knows it's not an exact science, but still. He's at a hetero event, and he's 99% sure he's the only gay dude in the whole place.

Wonderful. 

Ian stands with his empty glass and makes his way back to the bar. As he's weaving through the dancing crowd, his eyes catch on a familiar mop of black hair. Ian smiles. 

Maybe this night won't be a total waste after all...

 

***

 

Wonderful. 

What are the fucking chances? Seriously? 

Mickey looks up from his drink, unable to shake the feeling that he's being watched. 

He's not being watched, though. His sister is. 

"Mandy, what are you doing here?" Ian asks, sauntering over to the table with a half empty glass in his hand. 

"Ian, hey." Mandy smiles, standing and pulling Ian into a tight hug. She stands on her tip-toes, wrapping her arms around his neck. Ian hugs her back, surreptitiously observing Mickey sitting just feet away at the table. Mickey is talking to Iggy, pointedly ignoring Mandy and Ian. Mickey looks miserable and Ian finds he wants to know why. He's not friends with Mickey, he barely knows him. But seeing him look so low hits Ian somewhere deep inside, and he wants to help fix it. 

It's an odd feeling, and Ian doesn't know what to do with it. He chalks it up to his weird mood tonight and ignores it. "What are you doing here?" 

"Same shit you are, smartass." Mandy laughed, releasing Ian and waving her hand around the space. "Looking for Mr. Right." 

Ian chuckled, shaking his head. "I don't think I'm gonna find my guy here tonight. I'm pretty sure I'm the only gay dude here." 

Ian swears he sees Mickey stiffen at that statement, but he's not surprised. Mandy is the only Milkovich on earth that's not a massive homophobe. Ian doesn't really feel comfortable talking about this shit in front of Mandy's brothers. But she brought it up, and he's not going to lie. He can handle himself in a fight, even with the Milkovich brothers, and he's not going to pretend to be straight to make Mickey comfortable. 

He'll just have to deal. 

"You never know, Ian. There are some real pretty boys here tonight." Mandy waggled her eyebrows. 

"You still think that all pretty boys are gay? I thought we squashed this theory in high school." 

Mandy laughed and Mickey rolled his eyes. He wishes Ian would just go back to the other side of the room. Mickey doesn't know what it is about Ian, but Mickey can't keep his shit together around him. He can't help but listen for his voice, he can't stop sneaking glances at his face. 

It's not like Mickey's never crushed on a hot guy before, but he's usually a lot better at burying it deep inside. But these few times he's been in the same room as Ian, he can't keep his cool to save his life. 

He soaks up every word like a sponge, staring at the table to give the illusion of disinterest. He listens to Mandy and Ian make plans to see a movie later in the week, talk about his work, and her school. None of it interests him at all, but Ian's voice alone is enough to hold his attention. 

God, what the fuck is wrong with him? 

Something deep inside him screams 'You know!', but he pointedly ignore it. Thoughts like that are suicide for someone like Mickey. 

Ian's brother joins them and much to Mickey's horror, they sit down at Mickey's table. Both Gallagher brothers are talking to Mandy, not engaging Iggy or Mickey at all. After long minutes of silence between the brothers, Iggy spies a busty blond on the dance floor. 

"I'm gonna go see if that girl wants to rub up on me." Iggy says to Mickey, polishing off his beer and standing. 

"You may wanna word it different if you don't want to get punched." Mickey chuckles, shaking his head. 

"Whatever, dick. At least I'm making an effort." Iggy retorts, walking away. 

Once Mickey's brotherly buffer is gone from the table, Mickey feels increasingly uncomfortable. He's about to get up and get another drink when a skinny girl in a tight black dress approaches his table. Everyone stops talking, glancing up at the newcomer. 

"Hi. I'm Lindsay." she says to Mickey, twirling a piece of her mousy brown hair around her finger.

"Mickey." Mickey replies quietly. He knows this is the reason he came her tonight. This is what is expected of him. But that doesn't mean he has to like it. 

"You wanna go somewhere more private and compare Marks?" Lindsay gives Mickey a salacious grin and Mickey resists the urge to roll his eyes. 

He can feel everyone at the table watching him, and he knows he doesn't have a choice. 

"Uh, sure." Mickey says, polishing off his beer and standing from the table. He turns to his sister who is giving him a impish grin. "Be right back." 

"Take your time, Mick." Mandy laughs, shooing him with her hand. 

Mickey does roll his eyes that time, leaving the table and following Lindsay toward a corridor at the end of the ballroom. 

As he watches this random stranger's hips sway as she walks, Mickey has to remind himself repeatedly that this is his life, this is what's expected of him. 

He sighs, resigned to the fact that he never had a choice, and never will. 

 

***

 

Lip and Mandy both struck out, neither meeting their Match, or even someone to bide their time with. Iggy ended up getting the big busted blonde's number, but her touch didn't give him Colors either. 

Ian is starting to feel like this whole evening has been a waste. No one has even approached him at all, and he's too chickenshit to go up to anyone himself. He left some notes with the Meet runner, pointing out a couple of guys he'd be interested in talking to, but he doesn't expect anything to come of it. He did it mostly for Lip's benefit, to show that he was at least trying. He's contemplating asking Lip to leave when Mickey saunters back up to the table. The girl from before is nowhere to be seen, and Ian has to assume their were no Colors for Mickey either. 

"Fucking waste of time." Mickey grumbles, grabbing his beer and chugging the rest in one go. "Can we leave now?" 

Mandy laughs, shaking her head. "Not a match?" 

"No, and she gave horrendous head." Mickey spat, pissed off and over this whole bullshit evening. 

"Ew. You let that random skank blow you?" Mandy made a face, disgusted. Ian fought to keep his own face passive. 

He's not sure why it bothers him anyway. Why does he give a shit where Mickey sticks his dick? 

He doesn't. 

So why is he feeling suddenly sad and uneasy again? 

This night has been fucked since the start. 

"Why wouldn't I?" Mickey replies. "She offered. For free. Who says no to that?" 

Mickey hates himself in that moment. He hates lying to his sister, even though he's been doing it for his entire life. He can hear Ian mumbling under his breath, but Mickey is done eavesdropping on him. What Ian thinks or how he feels is none of Mickey's concern, and never will be. 

He needs to nip this stupid attraction in the bud, before it bites him in the ass. Because that's all it is, a meaningless crush on a hot neighborhood guy. It can't be anything more than that. 

What he really needs to do is leave this fucking place, and stay as far away as Ian as possible. 

With that thought in the forefront of his mind, he stands from the table. "I'm fucking done with this bullshit." he grabs his coat and starts putting it on, only to stop with his jacket halfway up his sleeves. 

A man has approached his table. Tall, blond, boring face. The newcomer cast his eyes across the table, pausing on Mandy. "I got a note from the organizer of the MatchMeet that someone at this table was interested in comparing Marks?" 

Mickey turns toward the table, glancing at his sister with raised eyebrows. 

"Not me." Mandy replies, confused. "Not that you're not cute." she amends when the dude glares at her. 

"Um, it was me." Ian's quiet voice draws everyone's attention. His face is red with embarrassment and he's struggling to maintain eye contact with the stranger. God, he didn't think anyone was going to actually come over. What the fuck. "The girl at the front desk said she'd explain the situation to you beforehand, so you could decide without having to come over." Ian's voice is so low and unsure, even Mickey has to strain to hear him, and he's standing right next to him. 

God, Ian's so fucking embarrassed. He can't believe he did this. Passing a note like a middle schooler instead of just talking to the guy. 

"Decide what?" the dude balks. "I ain't no fag, man. And I don't think you people should be allowed at these type of events. Gay people don't even have soulmates, it's a myth. Government conspiracy shit. You don't belong here." the guy eyed Ian with so much disgust, Ian felt dirty under his gaze. 

"You know how fucking stupid you sound right now?" Mickey asks, surprising everyone at the table. 

"Excuse me?" the man replies, turning to face Mickey. He's got a couple inches on Mickey, but Mickey's not intimidated. He steps right up to the asshole, so close their chests brush. 

"I asked you if you have any idea how fucking stupid you sound right now." Mickey reiterated, eyebrows raised. "Marks appear naturally, like a fucking birthmark or some shit. Gay people get 'em just like straight people. Fucking bi, trans-whatever. You coulda been polite and just said you weren't interested. You didn't have to insert your asinine beliefs into the conversation. Why don't you stop trying to push your bigoted shit onto innocent people, and step the fuck off." 

Ian's watching the exchange with wide eyes. He has no idea why Mickey is defending him right now, but it warms his fucking heart to see it. 

It also helps that the rude asshole looks like he's about to vomit all over his two hundred dollar sneakers. 

"I'm allowed my opinion. So why don't YOU fuck off." the dude snarks back, but all the bite is gone from his tone. He sounds terrified. Mickey smirks, grabbing the guy by his shirt and dragging him down so they are face to face. 

"Listen, I'm trying to be nice, but if you keep pushing me, you're gonna be eating your teeth. Apologize to my friend for being an intolerant dick and get fucking lost." 

The guy's eyes widen and Ian swears he's shaking. He glances over at Ian quickly. "Sorry." he mumbles. 

Mickey laughs, pushing the guy away. The dude leaves without another word and Mickey finally gets his jacket on. 

"Let's go." Mickey says to his siblings, pulling a cigarette out of his pack. "I'm fucking done." 

Mandy and Iggy stand immediately and start gathering their things. Ian stands too, moving toward Mickey without thought. 

"Thank you." Ian says, his hand moving on it's own accord. His fingertips are inches from Mickey's, intent on what? He's not sure. Handshake, maybe? He's not thinking, he's moving on instinct. But Mickey takes a step back, putting a much needed buffer between him and Ian. Ian looks confused at first, but takes his own step back anyway. 

"Don't mention it. I hate guys like that." and with that Mickey turns his back on Ian and starts hightailing it toward the exit. He doesn't even wait to see if Iggy and Mandy are following him. He needs to get out of there. 

What the hell was he thinking, stepping in on Ian's shit like that? It's none of his damn business. 

Mickey doesn't know what's going on with him, but it's concerning to say the least. Being around Ian fucks him up. 

And Ian was *this* close to touching him back there, and that's the last thing Mickey needs. 

He lights a cigarette, leaning against the brick facade of the building while he waits for his siblings to join him so they can go the fuck home. 

He's ready to go back to his house, sit alone in his room, drink his body weight in booze and forget this shit show of a MatchMeet ever fucking happened. 

 

***

 

"Well, that was rude." Mandy said, pulling her coat on. "I'm sorry, Ian. Mickey's a dick to everyone. I feel bad for whatever poor girl gets stuck being his soulmate." 

Ian just nods, sliding his arms into the sleeves of his jacket. "It's fine. Just tell him I appreciated what he said. I have to be honest, though. I was a little surprised that a Milkovich man stood up to a homophobe for me." 

"Yeah, well, Mick's full of surprises." Iggy pipes in, walking away from the table. 

"I'll call you." Mandy calls over her shoulder, waving.

Ian watches them go, and he and Lip aren't far behind them. Soon they have left the event and are making their way home in Jimmy's car. 

Ian is quiet the whole way home. He can't stop thinking about the MatchMeet event. How strange is it that Ian and Lip go all the way to the west side for a meetup, and run into the Milkovich siblings? How odd is it that instead of mingling with the crowd, the group spent most of their night together. And what's with Mickey defending Ian's gay honor? 

It just makes no sense.

Just like the feeling Ian's having right now are making no sense. 

He knows it's the stupidest thing he could possibly do, but he's afraid he's developing some sort of hopeless crush on Mickey. 

Ian can't think of a worse thing to happen to him. A pointless, fruitless, dangerous crush on a straight guy who happens to be part of the meanest, scariest, most intolerant families in Chicago. Sure, Mickey had his back tonight. But sticking up for a gay guy in an argument and actually being receptive to said gay guy are two entirely different things. 

Ian doesn't even KNOW Mickey. He's seen him twice in passing over the past few months. They aren't friends, they have absolutely nothing in common. 

So what the fuck is Ian thinking? 

Crushing on Mickey Milkovich just isn't an option. Not a safe one. And certainly not a sane one. 

Ian needs to get his shit together. He's just riding high on the emotions of Mickey's knight in shining armor act. These crazy feelings will dissipate in the morning. When Ian's not buzzed, and he's had a moment to really think about what he's feeling. 

What he needs to do is stay away from Mickey. The more distance he can put between himself and Mickey, the better. 

Because being around him clearly isn't a good idea. 

 

***

 

Mickey closes his bedroom door behind him, dropping his beer on his nightstand and falling into his on his back.

What a fucking shit show. 

He knew it was going to be a mess before he even walked into that stupid hotel. And was he ever right. He can't believe he acted the way he did. He's embarrassed and kind of ashamed. 

First that shit with that girl. Mickey can't even remember her name now. What he does remember is how filthy he felt with her fingers on his wrist. On his Mark. 

That Mark was not for that girl. Her hands didn't belong on his body. Mickey is sudden hit with a bone deep sorrow, disgusted with himself for his actions. 

All this pretending is wearing him down. The whole time that girl was blowing him, all Mickey could think of was how much he hated himself. How his soulmate would never want to be with him. And why would he, when Mickey can't even be honest about who and what he is at his most basic level?

Mickey sighs, taking a long sip of his beer. He drops the bottle onto his nightstand and picks up his bowl and lighter. 

And of course he couldn't stop with that shit. He had to step into the middle of Ian's bullshit. They're not friends, they're barely acquaintances for fuck's sake. But he took up for Ian against some stranger over WORDS. Jeusus Christ. 

But he couldn't seem to help himself. Listening to that dickbag talk to Ian that way boiled his damn blood. He was about two seconds away from laying the asshole out. That would have been even more suspect. 

He's not looking forward to explaining his actions to his siblings. Mickey speaking up for Ian was beyond out of character. It was so strange in fact, Mickey is afraid Iggy will mention it to his father. Iggy wouldn't mean to sell Mickey out, he's just stupid and doesn't think before he speaks. 

The more Mickey thinks about it, the more worried he becomes. He lights his pipe and takes a long drag, hoping the weed will soothe his frazzled nerves. 

He's got so much on his mind, he can barely organize all the bullshit in his brain into coherent thoughts. 

He hasn't even thought about what Terry is going to say when he finds out none of them found their Mates at the event. Terry beat the shit out of two officials to get them tickets to that MateMatch, and now they have nothing to show for it. 

Terry is going to be heated. 

But....he's nowhere to be found at the moment, and Mickey's going to bask in his absence while it lasts. 

After he's smoked his bowl and drained his beer, he lays against his pillows and closes his eyes, willing his intrusive thoughts away. 

He's got so much shit to figure out, but all that crap can wait 'til the sun comes up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so this has been a fun little idea that popped out of nowhere. but if you are reading my other work, please don't fret, the order is still taking up a lot of my time. i should have another chapter of that one up soon, since i am a stellar multitasker. thank you for you patience, and for being awesome enough to read my stuff to begin with. i am eternally grateful to you.


	3. Evasion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mickey makes it his life's mission to avoid Ian Gallagher at all costs. 
> 
> That's easier said than done. 
> 
> Ian thinks like he's losing his mind. Everywhere he looks these days, he sees Mickey Milkovich. He's doing his damnedest to steer clear of the guy, but no matter what he does, Mickey is right there...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> evasion: (n) an act or instance of escaping, avoiding, or shirking something.

Mickey is a god damn mess. Even Gerard commented on his odd behavior at work earlier in the day. 

Mickey falls onto his bed with a beer and stares at his ceiling, pondering the bizarre turn his life has taken recently. 

His plan to figure shit out has gone terribly awry. He hasn't solved a single one of his problems. His father is still on a tear. He's been raging over on thing or another since he got back from New Mexico. Mickey's sure the meth doesn't help. Mickey caught a beating just this morning over not searching out his soulmate. Mandy and Iggy went to another MateMatch event last weekend, but Mickey couldn't bring himself to do it. His heart's just not in it, and he knows for a fact he's not going to meet his Match at one of those parties.

In fact, Mickey is terrified he's already met him. 

Two weeks have gone by since the MateMatch event, and Mickey's life has become a never ending quest to avoid Ian Gallagher. 

It should be easy. They've lived in the same neighborhood their entire lives and have hardly ever seen each other. But since that chance meeting at the Alibi, everywhere Mickey turns, there is Ian. 

And it's not like Ian's even seeking him out. He just happens to be wherever Mickey is. 

Mickey saw him at the movies with his little brother Carl last weekend. Mickey and Iggy had gone to see "Psychomania' - one of their favorite movies growing up. It's a cult classic, but fairly unknown in the wider world. 

Guess a movie about a devil-worshiping, murderous zombie biker gang doesn't have that much mass appeal. But it's one of Milkovich brothers' favorites.

So imagine Mickey's surprise when he sees Ian sitting two rows ahead of him, with his little brother Carl no less. 

Mickey had pretended not to see him, smacking Iggy across the chest when he'd opened his mouth to call to Ian. 

It had been jarring, to see Ian like that, purely coincidentally. 

Or at least he'd thought it was a coincidence. Until it happened again, and again. And again. 

He'd seen Ian and the liquor store that following Friday, dodged him by hiding behind a giant display of Ruble Vodka. 

Three days later, on Monday, Mickey had spied Ian in line at Chicken-n-Things. Mickey had wandered into his favorite fast food restaurant to grab dinner after work. It was late and Mickey knew no one in his god damn house was going to be cooking. Ian had been going out the front door, big bag of food in his hands. 

Mickey had plastered himself up against the wall by the bathrooms, like some kind of off brand spy in an espionage movie. He's not sure why he's so averse to talking to Ian again. He just has the sinking feeling that if he does talk to Ian, he's going to want more than just conversation. Mickey's never once considered the possibility that his soulmate could be from the neighborhood. It happens, obviously, but Mickey never thought he'd be one of the lucky ones to find his Match in his own back yard. 

Or unlucky ones, considering what his life is like right now. 

He knows if Terry learns of Mickey's suspicions, he won't only go after Mickey. He'd go after Ian on principle. One of Terry's favorite things to do in life is destroy what Mickey cares about. When Mickey was little, Terry burned all his drawings, calling his art 'faggot shit'. When Mickey was fourteen, Terry shot a stray cat Mickey'd been feeding with a fucking crossbow, because 'only women and fairies like cats.', whatever that means. He systematically picked apart any and everything Mickey cared about, cutting it down and shitting on Mickey for liking it, until Mickey didn't care about anything anymore. 

Terry has made it his life's mission to break Mickey down, and rebuild him into the man Terry expected him to be. 

Terry thinks he's succeeded, for the most part. Mickey is smart enough to keep his true self hidden from his father. Because Fuck him. 

But Mickey just isn't sure if he can keep something as big as finding his soulmate hidden from his father. Once they touch, and their Colors bloom, it will become harder and harder to keep it secret. Mickey knows enough about soulmates to know that once you meet your Match, it becomes almost impossible to be without them. 

Mickey can't afford that shit right now. He can't let Ian anywhere near the chaotic dumpster fire he call his life. He doesn't even know the guy, but he wouldn't wish this shit on his worst enemy. 

So no matter how drawn he feels to Ian, or how many times he surreptitiously runs across him on the street, Mickey's going to keep his distance. He's going to ignore the strange feeling he gets when he thinks about him, and he's definitely going to ignore the crazy dreams he's been having about him. 

Mickey's going to ignore it all and hope against hope that he can keep this shit buried until it's safer to explore it. 

Of course, that's easier said than done...

 

***

 

Ian feels like he's going crazy. It's unlike any feeling he's ever experienced before. It's not his disorder, that much is certain. Ian is sleeping fine. (except for the insane dreams he has every night) He doesn't have racing thoughts, he's not acting erratically. He's not depressed. He goes to work every day, he's keeping up with his social life, he feels good. Happy even. 

Except he just can't shake this feeling that something is not quite right. 

He knows what the problem is, he just doesn't want to admit it. 

Ian's done a lot of stupid shit in his life. He could make a list, but no one has time for that. 

But crushing on a straight homophobe from his neighborhood when his soulmate is out in the world waiting for him pretty much takes the cake. 

The universe is cruel, however, because every time Ian swears he's done thinking about Mickey Milkovich, the guy gets dropped right in his lap. Metaphorically speaking, thank god. 

It's like everywhere Ian looks these days, he sees Mickey. Ian's had to go to great lengths to avoid being seen by the other man, lest he be pegged as some crazy gay stalker. 

He's not stalking Mickey. He's not even LOOKING for Mickey. Mickey just happens to be there every time he looks up these days. 

In the past two weeks, Ian has seen Mickey on the street no less than four times. Each and every time Ian has damn near broken his neck in his slapdash efforts to get gone before Mickey sees him. 

Ian's seen him walking down the block twice. They've lived on the same block for fifteen years, and Ian can't remember seeing him once. But now that Ian's got this stupid crush, Mickey seems to be keeping the same hours as Ian, and it's frustrating as fuck. 

Ian saw Mickey walking by the El one night on when Ian was on his way home from a friend's house. Ian was in such a rush to not be seen, he jumped into a bush by the bridge to avoid detection. 

Fucking embarrassing. 

Then, to add insult to injury, Ian saw him in line at Cup o' Joe's one morning on his way into work. Ian had just paid for his latte, thanked the girl behind the counter and turned to leave, only to spot Mickey at the back of the line. 

Ian had frozen, of course. Mickey had earbuds in, bobbing his head to music only he could hear. He was so lost in his own world, he never even noticed Ian sneaking out the exit two feet to his left. Ian had stood on the other side of the glass door, watching Mickey like a creep for god knows how long. 

Ian's not even sure what is it about Mickey that captivates him so. He doesn't know him. Not even a little bit. But he just can't get the guy out of his head. 

Ian had stared, utterly enamored. How could he have never noticed how fucking beautiful Mickey was? 

Not that he'd ever say that shit to him. Ian would like to keep his tongue. 

But that doesn't make it any less true. Mickey is gorgeous. Those bright blue eyes, the way his lips twitch when he's desperately trying not to smile. His arms, that fucking ass. There's not a single one of Mickey's attributes that Ian doesn't adore. Ian doesn't know when he became so well acquainted with Mickey's body, but nowadays he can conjure up the other man's image behind his closed eyes in seconds. Ever freckle, every visible scar, every lock of hair. 

It's disconcerting. 

And that's not even taking into account the way Mickey makes him feel. And the stupidest thing about this hopeless crush is the fact that Mickey makes him feel so good for no actual, valid reason. They've only spoken a handful of times, they know nothing about each other. Ian's not even sure he'd like Mickey if he got to know him. 

But that cold hard fact has no bearing on how Ian feels. Since crossing paths with Mickey a few short weeks ago, all of Ian's thoughts, waking or otherwise, have been inundated with the dark hair Milkovich. Ian's never dreamed so much in his entire life. Sometimes they are sex dreams. Visions of Ian and Mickey in all kinds of kinky, compromising positions. Ian wakes up gasping every time, rock hard and desperate. But other times, Ian's dreams are innocent, simple, downright domestic even. That's never happened to him before. He's never dreamed about folding laundry with someone or cooking eggs for someone. It's the most bizarre shit, and it's only making his pointless, stupid crush that much worse. 

Of all the insane shit Ian's done in his life, developing feelings for a straight neighborhood thug who beats on gay guys for fun has the be at the very top of the list. 

If Ian didn't know better, he'd think Mickey might just be his Match. The way Ian's been feeling, the dreams he's been having. It's textbook soulmate shit. But Ian's never heard of a gay man and a straight man being Matched. It goes against the whole reason soulmates exist. So no, this is just Ian's cruel, sick brain playing tricks on him, like it always does. 

Mickey's not gay. Even the thought is preposterous. 

So, after all these concerning close calls, Ian has made it his mission in life to avoid Mickey at all costs. 

So Ian had forced himself to stop ogling Mickey buying coffee. He had turned his back at the object of his desire and not looked back. 

He'd been doing a pretty good job avoiding Mickey for the past few days, so imagine his surprise when he spotted him in the waiting room at the Chicago South Free Clinic. 

What the fuck. 

Ian had an appointment with Gail, his psychiatrist. He could get a new doctor at a better practice, since he's got health insurance now, but Gail's been by his side since his diagnosis, and the thought of starting all over with a stranger is daunting and unappealing.

So Ian had gone to his biweekly appointment, fully intent on spilling his guts, getting some sage advice and getting refills of his prescriptions. But he was rethinking his plans when he walked into the waiting room and saw Mickey sitting there. 

Seriously? What the actual fuck is happening to him? 

He momentarily contemplates cutting and running. Rescheduling his appointment and coming back when his secret obsession isn't sitting in the corner of the room, boredly reading a Men's Health from 2010. 

He walks up to the counter, intent on telling the receptionist he has to go, but rethinks it when he sees Gail behind the counter. 

"Oh Ian." Gail smiles. "I'll be right with you. Have a seat." 

Ian smiles, nodding. He can't bail on Gail. He can't bail on his own health because he's nervous to share space with a cute boy. 

Ian wanders to the far end of the room, tucking himself onto the corner of a love seat and picks up a Reader's Digest. He tries to focus on the words he's reading. Some article about the covered bridges of New England. He's doing a pretty good job of ignoring Mickey. At least he thinks he is. 

The thing is, just being in the same room as Mickey has got him feeling all kinds of ways. His heart is beating faster, his skin feels electrified, his whole body tingling. He's suddenly giddy. So fucking excited, for no good reason. Especially since he's not planning on DOING anything. He's just going to sit here and pretend he doesn't see Mickey.

But it seems that just being in the same room as Mickey is enough to send Ian's heart into overdrive. 

He honestly can't remember the last time he's crushed this hard on someone. That fact that it's utterly pointless doesn't damper Ian's excitement in the least. 

Ian decides in that moment, sitting in his doctor's waiting room, reading about fall foliage in the Berkshire Mountains, that he's just going to enjoy the buoyant mood, and Mickey's close proximity, and just not think too much about it for the time being. 

Maybe he'll ask Gail what she thinks. She always knows just what Ian needs to hear. 

 

***

 

Mickey really has to take a long hard look at his life and figure out how he keeps finding himself in these fucked up situations. 

Like, how did he end up at fucking Chicago Free Clinic South, on a Friday afternoon, reading about the perfect workout for six-pack abs? 

The only six pack he should be concerning himself with is the one in the fridge back home waiting for him. 

He has no idea how he let Mandy sucker him into taking her to the doctor. It's not his job to cart her all over Chicago. 

Yet, here he is. 

Mandy's been with the god damn doctor forever. Mickey's getting irritated. He's got his own shit to do tonight. Mainly just drowning his sorrows in cheep booze, but still. He's getting more irritated with each minute that passes. That is until he looks up from his stupid magazine and sees Ian sitting on the other side of the room. 

Well, sitting is not quite right. Hiding is more like it. Ian is tucked into the corner of the room, hiding his face behind a weathered copy of Reader's Digest. It's so obvious that he's trying to avoid detection, Mickey can't help but smile. 

Ian's not that slick. 

His sister finally emerges from behind the double doors, a small paper bag in her hand. 

"Mick, I got a bunch of free condoms, you want some?" Mandy calls out into the crowded waiting room. She rifling through her bag, plucking various types of prophylactics from within. Mickey's face flushes hot with embarrassment, all eyes on him suddenly. 

"God damn it, Mandy." Mickey grumbles, standing from his seat and tossing his magazine down. "Do you always have to be so loud?" 

Mandy just giggles, rolling her eyes. "Whatever, Mick." she opens her mouth to tell him off, but stops short when she spies Ian sitting on the other end of the room. 

"What the hell." she laughs. "Ian? Are you following me?" 

Ian glances up, giving Mandy a small smile. He purposely doesn't look at Mickey, because he knows if he does, he'll give himself away. 

Why? Out of all the days Mandy could come to the free clinic, why did she come today? And bring her god damn brother. Honestly, Ian has the worst luck. 

"Hey Mandy." Ian said, walking over to her. "No, I'm not following you. I have an appointment." 

"You know, if I didn't know better, I'd think you were my Match." Mandy joked. "All these chance meetings, it's like fate." 

Ian laughed quietly, not finding it funny in the least. He chanced a glance at Mickey, but the other man was staring at a poster promoting the flu shot. 

Okay then. 

"Listen, there's a party this weekend. You should come." Mandy said, rooting around in her purse. "Hold on, I have the address. We can meet up there if you want. Get white girl wasted." 

"I'm a dude." Ian replied, laughing for real this time. 

"Eh, gay guy, close enough." Mandy snarked back, still rummaging through her purse. It was so big, Ian wondered how she ever found anything. "Shit." she spat, glancing toward the exam rooms. "I think I left my phone in the other room. Stay here." she pointed at Ian, eyebrows raised. "I mean it, don't move a muscle. You're coming to this party." 

Ian dutifully nodded, stuffing his hands in his pockets. Mandy grinned, turning back toward the exam rooms, leaving Ian and Mickey standing in the waiting room. 

Ian looked over to find Mickey already watching him. 

Wonderful. This is just what Ian needed today. 

 

***

 

Mickey huffed, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning up against the wall of the clinic. 

"She does realize she can text you this shit, right?" Mickey surprises himself by engaging Ian in actual conversation. 

Ian laughed, and Mickey reveled in the sound. God, everything this guy did turned Mickey into a smitten asshole. 

"I don't think she cares." Ian replied, smiling. "She does shit her way, and the rest of us just go along." 

"Ain't that the truth." Mickey laughed, relaxing just a little bit. They stood silently for a little while, until Mickey surprised himself once more by speaking again.

"You have an appointment today?" 

Ian looks shocked at the question. He swallows hard, nodding minutely. "Yeah." 

"You sick?" Mickey's not sure why he's asking. All he does know is that he wants to know more about this guy. 

He kinda wants to know everything. 

"Not in the traditional sense of the word." Ian replies. He can feel his face heating up, like it always does when he has to have this conversation with someone new. "It's a, it's a brain thing." 

"Oh shit!" Mickey replies, snapping his fingers. "I remember. You had a freak out a few years back. Disappeared for a while. Then you can back and got into all kinds of shit. It was all over the neighborhood." 

Ian grimaced, looking away. "Yeah." was all he could muster. God, he's so embarrassed. He thought he was beyond this, but he's afraid he'll be getting this reaction for the rest of his life. "I'm bipolar, but I've got in under control." he said, his voice harder than he intended. "The neighborhood is full of assholes who like to run their mouth without knowing the whole story." 

"Hey man, I didn't mean no harm." Mickey said, realizing his error. He ran a hand through his hair, angry with himself for sticking his foot in his mouth. 

Ian looked up to see Mickey fidgeting with embarrassment and he feels bad for biting his head off. "Hey, I'm sorry." he says quietly, ducking down to catch Mickey's eyes. "It's just kind of a sensitive subject for me. People can be very judgmental. Especially around here." 

Mickey looks up to see Ian giving him a small smile. Mickey smiles back unconsciously, taking a single step closer. "You know," he says quietly, his eyes flitting all over Ian's face. "There's no shame in being sick." 

Ian cocks his head to the side, confused by Mickey's statement. "What?" 

"I said there's nothing wrong with being sick. Like, having a legit disease in your head or whatever." 

Ian gaped at Mickey, utterly incapable of comprehending what Mickey just said. "Huh?" 

Mickey chuckled, shaking his head. This was not his forte. Trying to comfort someone. Hell, talking politely with someone was pretty far outside his comfort zone. But Ian looked so embarrassed, so ashamed of who he was, Mickey was compelled to ease that pain. 

After all, Mickey knows all about shame and self loathing. 

"Yeah, man. My mom was depressed." he said, incredibly uncomfortable talking about this, but powering through it. "On and off meds for most of her life. I think that's why she ended up a junkie, y'know? Drugs made it easier to cope. She took the easy way out, though. You're doing the real shit. Like, trying to better yourself or whatever. I think that takes serious balls. I wouldn't listen to a single word any asshole in this shitcan neighborhood has to say about it. What the fuck do they know about anything anyway?" Mickey finished his little speech, running his hand down his mouth and peering up at Ian through his eyelashes. 

Ian was looking at him with so much wonder and reverence, it kind of freaked Mickey out. 

He has no idea what to do with a look like that. 

"You really think that?" Ian asks, his heart pounding in his chest.

"Do I look like the kind of guy that would say shit he doesn't mean?" Mickey retorts with a smirk. 

Ian grins back, taking a step closer. Just as he's about to speak again, Mandy comes bounding back into waiting room, waving her phone victoriously above her head. 

"Found it!" she bellows, bounding over to them. "Here, Ian." she passes him a small piece of paper with an address written on it. "That's Jordan Hopper's house. On South Weymouth Street. You know where it is?" 

Ian glanced at the note before looking back up at Mandy. Mickey is standing off to the side now, his face impassive, all the warmth in his eyes just moments ago was gone, replaced by that cold detachment Ian is used to seeing. 

Ian misses his smiling face already. 

God, he's so fucked. 

"So you're gonna go, right?" Mandy asks excitedly. "We've been running into each other so much, it's gotta be a sign, right?" 

Ian nodded. "Yeah, I'll go." 

Ian is inclined to agree with Mandy. Something is going on. 

He's just still not sure what. 

"Sweet!" Mandy grinned, waving as she made her way toward the door. "See you tonight, then." 

Ian waved back, watching Mandy and her brother leave the clinic just as his name was called at the front counter. 

Ian shook off the odd feeling swirling in his stomach as he watched Mickey melt into the crowd on the sidewalk. 

He can't wait to tell Gail all this shit. Ian's sure she'll have plenty to say. 

 

***

 

Mickey has given up on his plan to avoid Ian. It's pointless, clearly. The more he tries to evade the guy, the more he pops up in Mickey's life. 

So Mickey is just gonna give in to whatever's happening, and try to keep his damn head about him. Just because he's got inklings that Ian may be more than just a guy from the neighborhood, doesn't mean Mickey has any idea of what to do about it. He's just going to stop struggling so hard and hope he makes it out of this mess alive. 

He's standing in front of the mirror in his bathroom, fucking with his hair. It's a god damn mess, he can't get it to lay straight to save his life. 

Mandy ambles in while he's still messing with it, a deep frown fixed on his face. 

"You almost done?" she asks, irritated. "I need to do my make up." 

"Bitch, you don't need that clown shit." Mickey replied tersely, smoothing out the wrinkles on his black button down. "Look better without it." 

"Mikhailio Aleksandr Milkovich! Did you just compliment your sister?" Mandy grinned, shoving him out of the way and pulling out her make up bag. 

"No." Mickey bit back. "Just saying you don't have to paint your face like a two dollar hooker to look nice is all. Excuse me for having an opinion." 

Mandy rolled her eyes, but she was smiling. "You don't have to come with me, you know." she says instead. "It's just down the block, and I'm sure Ian would be willing to play guard dog for me tonight." 

Mickey scoffed, feeling exposed. Yes, he wanted to go. Yes, it may have something to do with Ian. 

But like hell Mickey was gonna say any of that shit. 

"I'm not outsourcing my brotherly duties, fuck you very much." he says instead. "Besides, free booze." 

"Spoken like a true Milkovich." Mandy laughed. 

Mickey laughed with her. He's done over thinking this shit. Ian is not his soulmate. He's not. Mickey's just confused. Ian's hot, and Mickey's dick is doing all his thinking. It's stupid to keep avoiding him like this. 

Yeah. Okay. So Mickey's gonna go to this party, get wasted on somebody else's dime, and go home and go to bed alone. His father is still gone, and Mickey is going to take the opportunity for what it is and not think about his soulmate at all. 

He needs the reprieve. 

And he's gonna get it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *fun fact* psychomania is a real movie, about a biker gang that sells their soul to satan so they can live forever. check it out if you get a chance, if you can find it anywhere.


	4. Ignition

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ian and Mickey attend the same party. 
> 
> Nothing will ever be the same.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's happening....

Ian stared at his phone, then up at the house he was standing in front of. This was the place. The address Mandy had given him the day at the clinic. This is where the party was. 

Ian was excited. He's not sure why. He has no real reason to expect anything exceptional to happen to him tonight. 

The week leading up to this party had been eventful in and of itself. Ian had worked a lot of overtime, so he'd been very busy. It was the full moon tonight, and the week leading up to a lunar event was always rife with chaos. Ian's not one to believe in that hokey hippie shit, but he sees it with his own eyes every month, so there must be something to it. 

There was a huge house fire, a hostage situation, a backhoe accident and a four car pile up on Cicero Avenue. Luckily there had been no fatalities at any of those incidents, but add all that to Ian's regular days of household accidents, bar fights and heart attacks, and you have a very busy, stressful week. 

Ian is ready to embrace the weekend and let his hair down. 

Mandy had texted Ian on his way over, letting him know she was already there. Ian's relieved. He doesn't really know anyone at this party, so Mandy will be his lifeline. Ian's a social person, doesn't really have trouble holding a conversation with strangers, but he always feels better with a friendly face close by. 

He walks up the the door and knocks, but the music inside is so loud, Ian's pretty sure no one can hear him. He tries the knob and finding the door unlocked, lets himself in. 

The party is in full swing. To the right of the entrance is the living room. The space is full of people, half dressed and gyrating all over each other. Music is pouring out of the tower speakers, some hip hop shit with a beat that pounds heavy in Ian's chest. 

He finds himself swaying to the beat unconsciously as he weaves through the crowd in search of Mandy. He glances over the heads of other party goers, searching out his friend. Not finding her in the living room, he shoulders through the crowd to get to the kitchen. 

The kitchen is just as crazy as the living room. There are liquor bottles lined along the counter top, and a tapped keg in a kiddie pool by the stove. There are small clusters of people dotted along the space, chatting among themselves. He spies Mandy in the far corner, deep in conversation with a group of people. Ian smiles, making his way over. 

He's surprised for some reason to see Mickey standing next to Mandy. He's got a beer in one hand and a joint in the other. Ian watches as Mickey takes a long hit off the joint, passing it to his sister as he tips his head toward the ceiling and blows the smoke out over his head. 

Ian can't seem to look away. Mickey's head is still tipped back, eyes closed, small smile playing on his lips. Ian's face mirrors Mickey's unconsciously, his own lips curling into a little grin. 

Mickey must feel Ian's eyes on him, because his head snaps back up and then their eyes lock. 

Ian waves, like a moron, instantly regretting his actions. God, sometimes he wants to punch himself in the face. 

Mickey just stares for a minutes, eyebrows raised. Then, he turns toward his sister, speaking into her ear. Mandy turns, bright smile illuminating her face. 

"Ian!" she yelps, running full speed through the crowded space and jumping on Ian like a god damn spider monkey. Ian thinks quick, tucking his arms under her thighs to keep her from sliding to the floor. "You came." 

"I did." Ian chuckles. "Guess I have some catching up to do, you're wasted." 

Mandy giggles, wriggling out of Ian's grasp and standing on the floor in front of him. "Let's get you a beer." she grabs Ian by the wrist and pulls him toward the keg. "Mick! Cup!" 

Mickey rolls his eyes, but passes the joint to some guy Ian doesn't recognize and moves to do as his sister requested. He grabs a red solo cup from a stack on the counter, filling it quickly with beer from the keg. By the time Mandy and Ian make their way over to him, the cup is full. Mickey passes it to Ian with a little smirk.

"Thanks." Ian says, taking a sip. It's not cold, but it's not exactly warm either. Ian needed this tonight. He chugs half the cup in on go, sighing in relief as he wipes his mouth with the sleeve of his green button up. 

"Didn't think you were gonna show." Mandy says, tucking her arm into Ian's and leaning her head on his shoulder. She gets a little touchy-feely when she's drunk, always has. Ian finds he's glad this one thing hasn't changed about his friend. 

He's hit in that moment by the fact that he really doesn't know Mandy at all anymore. The thought saddens Ian, and he makes a promise to himself right there that he won't let her fade out of his life again. 

"Told you I would." Ian grinned, taking another sip of his beer. His eyes travel from Mandy to Mickey, who is still standing by them, watching Ian as he chats with his sister. Ian grins at him, utterly delighted when Mickey blushes a bit and looks away. 

It could be the booze, but Ian likes to think it's him that's having this effect on the other man. He knows that's bullshit, but it won't hurt to pretend for a few minutes. 

Ian and Mandy fall into an easy conversation, like no time has passed at all. Like they never lost touch or fell out of friendship. It's soothing to Ian, to feel so comfortable with someone again. Ian has friends, guys from work and people from his days at Malcolm X Community College, but none of those friendships will ever compare to his first ever true best friend. 

God, he's missed her. 

They're totally ignoring everyone else in the room. It's just the three of them, tucked into a corner in the living room now, drinking and reminiscing about their shared south side experience growing up. 

"Man, that ice cream truck was such a good hustle. I remember my brothers being so pissed. You guys had the park on lock all summer. Iggy couldn't move a single joint to save his life!" Mickey laughed. Ian chuckled along, letting himself get lost in this easy, happy version of Mickey. 

It suits him. Happiness. 

"Fuck that shit." Mandy spat, suddenly irritated. Ian was confused. He glanced at Mickey, who just shrugged, clearly not understanding Mandy's sudden change in demeanor. 

"That was the summer Karen was every-fucking-where. Couldn't step outside my god damn house without seeing her stupid face." 

Ian nodded along, remembering vaguely about some altercation between Mandy and Karen. God knows he can't recall what it was about. Clearly there is still some bad blood there. 

"I'm going to do a shot." Mandy decides, still fuming. "You guys want?" 

Ian and Mickey nod and Mandy is gone before either of them can say anything else. 

"What was that about?" Ian asks, turning toward Mickey. They are only standing a few feet apart, and this close Ian can see a faint dusting of freckles along Mickey's nose. 

Ian wonders how he never could have noticed before, all these inconsequential, amazing things about Mickey. 

"They've got old beef." Mickey replies, answering a question Ian forgot he'd asked. "Over some guy. I don't care enough to remember, honestly." 

Ian nodded. He gets that. He can't keep up with all his siblings' drama either. 

"I didn't expect you to come tonight." Ian says, after a long moment of silence between them. Mickey hasn't left, though, so Ian takes that as a good sign and forges on with his attempt at conversation. 

"Told Mandy I'd take her." Mickey shrugs. "She doesn't always like to go out alone." 

Ian nodded in understanding. The neighborhood may not be as bad as it used to be, but it still wasn't exactly safe. 

Silence settles between them again, and Ian starts to feel uncomfortable. He should probably go. Make a dignified exit before he embarrasses himself. But he can't seem to move for the life of him. He just stands there, sipping his beer and staring at his feet. 

God, what's wrong with him?

 

***

 

Something's wrong with Mickey. Obviously. 

His sister took off to get them all shots like ten minutes ago, and she's still not back. He's been standing here in awkward silence with Ian for far too long. But he feels glued to the spot. He pulls a cigarette out of his pack and lights it, just for something to do. He's still got half a beer so he takes a sip, sneaking a glance at Ian over his cup. 

Mickey can feel that same strange feeling bubbling in his gut. That nervous excitement that churns inside him whenever Ian's within spitting distance. 

Mickey's never felt like this before. Never crushed this hard on someone before. It's taking on a life of it's own, with the dreams and the random meetings. 

Mickey's not a moron. He knows what's happening. Which makes him all the more stupid for standing here, right fucking next to Ian. Anything could happen at any moment and blow Mickey's cover.

But he still can't seem to deviate from his place next to Ian. It's like magnetism or some other faggy cosmic shit. 

Ian looks up and they lock eyes. The ginger opens his mouth to speak and Mickey finds he's desperate to know what Ian's going to say. But just as the first syllable slips past his lips, Mandy comes bounding back over, laughing maniacally. She bumps into Mickey, sending him sprawling forward. He skids to a halt mere inches from Ian, utterly relived he didn't fucking touch him. 

His relief is short lived, however, when Ian yelps, jumping back. 

"Dude, you spilled your whole beer on me." Ian groused, looking down at his drenched shirt. 

"Shit." Mickey muttered, dropping his cup down on the coffee table and starting to strip off his own outer shirt. He was smart enough to wear a t shirt under his flannel. "Sorry, man. My drunk bitch of a sister is a fucking klutz." 

Mandy just giggles as Ian starts to strip his shirt. "Take it off!" 

"Mandy, shut the fuck up." Mickey spits, pulling his arm out of his sleeve.

"I'm all sticky." Ian sighs, shooting Mandy a little glare. The smile slips off Mandy's lips and she starts apologizing. Like she just realized what she'd done.

"Oh, Ian. I'm sorry. I tripped. I didn't mean to. The bathroom is right over there." she points to the back hallway and Ian rolls his eyes, sidestepping Mandy's drunk ass and moving toward the bathroom. 

Mickey follows without a single thought. It's like his brain has gone off line and he's acting on instinct. 

Ian is peeling his wet shirt off as he finally makes it to the bathroom. It's bigger inside than Mickey thought it would be. He stands in the doorway, leaning on the casing as he watches Ian strip his shirt and toss it on the closed toilet seat. He turns on the sink and grabs a washcloth out of a small basket on the back of the toilet. He wets it and starts wiping the sticky booze off his stomach, grimacing at the mess. 

Mickey doesn't really know what he's doing here, standing in the bathroom with Ian while he washes stale beer of his ridiculously defined chest and abs. But he stays, holding his own flannel shirt in a tight fist as his eyes rake over Ian's naked torso. 

"See something you like?" Ian smiles, looking over his shoulder. 

"Excuse you?" Mickey barks, defenses up instantly. 

"Uh, I was just kidding." Ian stammers. He gets flirty when he's drinking. He can't help it. It has gotten him into trouble plenty of times in his life, but he's afraid this might be one of the bigger fuck ups. "I didn't mean anything by it." Ian is backpedaling as hard as he can, but the sulfurous look on Mickey's face says he's not doing himself any favors. 

"No, really." Mickey says, uncrossing his arms and taking an unnecessary step forward. He gets right in Ian's face. "What the fuck did you mean by that?" 

"I didn't mean anything." Ian replies, getting irritated himself. Mickey is freaking out over nothing. Ian had thought they were having a good time tonight, but now Mickey's acting like a dick. 

That shouldn't surprise Ian, but it does. 

"Then why'd you fucking say it?" Mickey asks, hackles up. He feels open and exposed in this moment, like all his secrets, all his hidden feelings are out on display for Ian to see. Mickey hates it, and the only thing he can think of to do is to fight it. Fight the feeling, and the person causing it. "You know what, I was tryin' to be nice. Let you borrow my shirt, but you can go fuck yourself." Mickey turned to walk away, but Ian was too quick. 

He stepped away from the sink, reaching for Mickey. "Hey, wait!" he says, wrapping his fingers around his wrist. "Don't...." But the words dies on his tongue. 

In an instant, everything goes black. Ian can't see, can't hear, can't feel anything. 

Then, he's suddenly inundated with images. Like a movie playing in his mind. Him and Mickey kissing. Him and Mickey laughing. Cooking, watching TV wrapped up in each other on a couch. Ian and Mickey, naked, rolling around in bed, tongues and bodies intertwined in a million different ways. Mickey looking deep into his eyes, saying 'I love you.' over and over. 

Ian gasps, coming back to himself. His body is buzzing, his brain still fizzling with the memories of things that haven't happened yet. 

Before he can comprehend what's happening, Mickey turns, fire in his eyes. "Back the fuck off. Don't touch me." he pushes Ian hard, two hands to the center of his chest. Ian goes flying backwards, landing in the tub. He hits his head hard on the tile surround, but that pain has nothing on the searing pain of his chest. It feels like his skin is on fire, burning him to a fucking cinder. 

What the fuck just happened?

 

***

 

The moment Ian's fingers close around Mickey's wrist, he's sent spiraling into some bizarre alternate reality for a moment. A reality where Ian is his and he loves Mickey more than anything. A world where Mickey is free to be himself, without fear, without pain. A world filled with incredible sex and kisses more tender than Mickey imagined possible. His whole body is alight with pleasure, utterly luminous with love and fucking freedom. 

It's the most incredible feeling Mickey's ever experienced, and it scares the fuck out of him. He comes to his senses, shoving Ian off of him and darting out of the bathroom without looking back. 

His wrist is on fire, and his head is still all floaty, but he ignores it as best he can. He dropped his flannel shirt in the bathroom when Ian touched him, but he doesn't give a fuck. The ginger asshole can keep it. 

Mickey runs out of the house without even saying goodbye to his sister. (he'll regret that when he's home again and thinking clearly.) 

He's halfway down the block before he has the balls to look down at his wrist. 

Fuck. 

He KNEW it. He fucking knew it. 

On his wrist, his Mark, which has been inky black since it first appeared, had bloomed in brilliant swirls of blue and green. Like the most gorgeous watercolor ever painted. 

Ian's fingerprints. On Mickey's skin. 

Fuck.  
Oh fuck. 

 

***

 

Ian heaves himself out of the tub, utterly at a loss. 

What the fuck just happened? 

He lifts Mickey's shirt off the floor and slips it over his shoulders. It's a little small on him, but it will do in a pinch. 

His mind is still reeling from the bizarre visions he just experienced. Sometimes his disorder will give him odd hallucinations, but never anything like that. 

He glances at himself in the mirror, fingers moving to the buttons of the blue and black flannel. 

He stops short, fingers stilling. He's completely frozen, staring at his reflection in the mirror. 

What the actual fuck? 

He flings the shirt off his shoulders, his drunken mind taking too long to process what he sees. 

Ah, that's what hurts so fucking bad. Scorching like a second degree sunburn. 

His Mark. 

Those two pitch black hand prints that have been tattooed to his flesh for years now. Just as much a part of him as his green eyes or red hair. 

His black Mark isn't black anymore. 

Instead he has a set of high definition tie-dyed hand prints on his chest. The most fascinating mixture of green and blue, in the perfect imprint of Mickey fucking Milkovich's palms. 

Holy shit.  
Holy fucking shit. 

Ian needs to find him. 

He buttons Mickey's flannel all the way to the very top, covering up his bright, brand new Mark. He's not ready for anyone else to see. He runs out of the bathroom, his eyes searching for Mickey is the crowded house. His eyes flit around the room frantically, but he comes up empty. 

He catches sight of Mandy dancing in the middle of the room with some brodude from the neighborhood. He runs over to her, unable to hide how keyed up he is. 

"Mandy! Where did Mickey go?" 

Mandy turns, swaying drunkenly. She smiles at Ian. "He took off like the place was on fire, like five seconds ago, why?" 

"Shit." Ian spat, running a hand through his hair in irritation. He wants to leave. He wants to....no he needs to go find Mickey right now. 

This is life altering shit. Ian still can't wrap his head around it. Mickey's straight. Right? He is. Everyone says he is. HE says he is. There is no way this can be real. 

This can't be happening. It's impossible. 

Ian's totally at a loss. He needs to sober up. He can't go after Mickey like this. He needs a minute to process this madness before he finds him. Because he's going to find him. He has to figure this shit out. 

"Ian, are you okay?" Mandy asks, sobering up instantly when she spies the stricken look on Ian's face. "What's wrong?"

Ian feels like he may be sick. 

"I need to get out of here." Ian decides. "I want to go home." 

"Okay." Mandy nods, pushing the guy off her. "Let me grab my coat." she's gone before Ian can respond. 

He has to get out of there. He leaves out the front door and stands on the porch, anxiously waiting for Mandy so they can get the fuck away from this party. He pulls a cigarette out of his pack, lighting it and taking a long drag to soothe his nerves. He's so keyed up. So confused.

When Ian agreed to accompany Mandy to the party tonight, he had a weird feeling something strange might happen, but he had no idea this shit was gonna go down. 

Mickey is his fucking soulmate? 

Even the thought is preposterous. 

But....but this shit doesn't happen by mistake. Soulmates are preordained by something greater than either Ian or Mickey. 

Mickey.... Ian can't even believe this shit. So all these feelings he's been having...the dreams and odd coincidental meetings, it all adds up to the incomprehensible idea that Mickey Milkovich is his soulmate. 

And the even more incomprehensible idea that Mickey is gay. 

Ian never would have guessed, not in a million years. Mickey plays straight better than any closeted queer he's ever come across. It makes sense, of course. Ian knows his family, but still. He can't even imagine what that must feel like. To have to hide who you are at your most basic level, from everyone you know. It's clear to Ian that not even Mandy knows. 

How lonely that must be. How exhausting. Keeping such a big secret, pretending, every second of every day. 

Mickey must be so strong. And so fucking tired. Ian is suddenly hit with the most intense wave of sympathy for his soulmate. Compassion for this man, and all he's suffered. Ian doesn't know how, but he wants to make it right. He wants to fix it somehow. 

How? He has no idea. All he is sure of, knowing what he knows, is that his fruitless little crush has morphed into something Ian can't even understand. 

It feels like love. It really does. Which is fucking insane, since Ian still doesn't even know the guy. 

But this is how this soulmate shit works, right? Love at first sight, meant to be, together forever. All that jazz. 

At least, that's what Ian's been hearing his whole life. 

But if that's the case, then why did Mickey bolt like that when they touched? When their Marks bloomed, why did Mickey run? 

It can't be as simple as being scared, can it? Ian would like to think unending, eternal love with the one person meant just for you would surpass any residual fear of being outed. 

Looks like Ian doesn't know shit about shit. 

He's so lost in his spiraling thoughts he doesn't notice Mandy standing on the porch until she lays a hand on his arm. 

Ian jumped a mile, spinning quickly to face her. "Jesus, Mandy." 

Mandy took a step back, a quizzical look on her face. "What the hell is up with everyone tonight? First Mickey bolts like the cops are on his ass, then you wanna leave before they even break out the jello shots. What's going on? Is that Mickey's shirt? What the fuck, Ian?" 

"I, uh, I don't really want to talk about it. Can we just go?" 

Mandy gives him a look he can't decipher. Pity, maybe. Fear? Who knows. He's used to getting that look from people, ever since he was diagnosed. But this feels different. This isn't his crazy brain playing tricks on him. 

This is his soulmate. 

And he may not know what he wants to do about it, but he does know he can't say a fucking word until he talks to Mickey. Which will probably be easier said than done. 

"You want me to come home with you?" Mandy asks as they make their way down the sidewalk side by side. 

Ian glances over at her, giving her the closest thing to a smile he can muster at the moment. It might be good idea to not be alone, even if he can't tell her what's wrong, it will be nice to have the company. "Yeah, if you want." 

"We can have a sleepover, like back in the day, remember? Fiona would always be on our ass to keep it above the covers. Ha. She was clueless." 

Ian giggled along, feeling happy and nostalgic, walking down the street with his old friend. It was almost enough to take his mind off of Mickey. 

Almost. 

 

***

 

Mickey ignored Iggy sprawled out on the couch when he entered the house. He stalked over to the fridge, grabbed a beer and stormed to his bedroom, slamming the door behind him. He threw himself down on his bed, chugging his beer until his eyes watered. 

Fuck. Stupid. He's so fucking stupid. 

He knew. 

He had a feeling Ian might be his soulmate. All the signs were there, right in Mickey's fucking face. Yet he chose to ignore the warnings and put himself right in the path of destruction. 

He knew the more he chose to hang around Ian, the greater the odds of them touching were. Following Mandy to that party was a stupid fucking idea. But Mickey had thought he was being careful. He had been keeping his distance, kind of. 

Who the fuck is he kidding? He did this to himself. Ian was like a force of nature. A god damn tsunami. A tidal wave. A rip current pulling Mickey under no matter how much he struggled against the pull. And now Mickey was drowning and he has no idea how to save himself. No idea how he's supposed to keep his Mark hidden and stay away from Ian. Now that they have set fate in motion with their touch, it will be virtually impossible. 

If Terry finds out, he will murder Mickey. Not in that hyperbolic 'my dad's gonna kill me' way all kids say. No. Terry will slit his throat and dump him in the god damn river. 

There will be no faggots in the Milkovich family. 

And now, not only has Mickey signed his own death warrant with his reckless behavior, but he's inadvertently signed Ian's too. God forbid Terry figures out who Mickey's faggot soulmate is, he'll skin Ian alive on principle. 

And Mickey would never forgive himself for that. 

Because the sad fact of the matter is, even if Mickey doesn't know Ian, he knows that he loves him. 

It's the strangest, most bizarre feeling Mickey's had in his entire life, but it's true. Ever since that first touch in the bathroom, Mickey's heart is utterly full of love for Ian fucking Gallagher. 

If he's being honest with himself, Mickey's been kind of hot for Gallagher for a while now. It's not that strange a thing, Ian is nice, funny and sexy as fuck. As far as south side guys go, he's honest and hard working. And to Mickey the best part is that he's clearly gay as fuck, but not in that effeminate, girly, nail polish wearing, high pitched screaming, karaoke singing, Madonna loving way. 

Not that there's anything wrong with that shit. To each their own and all that. But for Mickey, he wants a man that he has shit in common with. Someone to shoot guns with, watch Van damn movies with. Someone who can talk sports and hang in a fight. Someone like him.

And Ian is all that shit and more. And now, laying in his bed, drinking his beer, Mickey just stares at his Mark. He twists his wrist one way and the other, taking in the swirling mixture of green and blue painting his skin. 

He sighs, feeling utterly overwhelmed by emotion. He loves Ian. He loves him already. Maybe he has this whole time and just didn't know it. 

And because of that love, he feels desperate to protect Ian. 

He has to keep this shit a secret, just for a little bit longer. He's got to talk to Ian, figure out a game plan. It's the only way to keep them both breathing. 

Mickey sits up in bed, downing the rest of his beer, decision made. This is gonna hurt like a bitch, but it's the only thing Mickey can think of to cover his tracks. 

He stands on his knees on the bed, turning toward the wall. He takes a deep breath, letting it out slowly as he cocks his hand back and punches the wall as hard as he can. His fist goes through the drywall, tearing the skin off his knuckles. He feels his wrist give a little and he knows he's sprained it. 

He hisses, pulling his hand back and cradling it against his chest. It's bleeding and already starting to bruise. 

Good. 

Iggy comes barreling into the room when he hears the noise. "Mick, what the fuck?" 

"Punched the wall." Mickey says by way of explanation. It's enough, in this house. 

"I'll get the brace." Iggy sighs. This is a common occurrence in the Milkovich household. If there's one thing they have in abundance, it's first aid supplies. Stolen first aid supplies, but still. 

Mickey gives his brother a little grin, grabbing his beer with his good hand. He glances down at his bruised wrist and his smile grows wider. The brace will hide his newly colored Mark, and give him a few days time to figure this shit out. 

Because he is going to figure it out. 

Earlier in the day he decided he was done avoiding Ian. Tonight he's decided he's going to pursue him. 

Ian is meant for him, and Mickey's done being a little bitch. Sure, he's scared shitless, but he knows what happens when people avoid their Matches. And he'd rather face off with his father than watch Ian go insane before losing his shit himself. 

There has to be a way. And Mickey's going to find it. 

Or fucking die trying.


	5. Inevitable, inexorable

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No matter what, some things are just meant to be...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is it, friends. the end of this little universe. it's been a fun ride.

The morning sun creeps through the window and Ian pinches his eyes shut, turning away from the bright light with a groan. 

It's hot in the room. Ian huffs, rolling onto his back and throwing his arm over his eyes. Just a few more minutes, and then he'll get up. 

"Ian! What the fuck!" Mandy's sharp voice tears him out of the sleep he'd been desperately clinging to. He sighs, blinking his eyes open slowly. Mandy was standing at the end of his bed, arms crossed over her chest defiantly. She was still wearing the old t shirt Ian had given her to sleep in last night after they'd stumbled home from the party. 

He sits up slowly, rubbing at his eyes with a loose fist. "What?" 

"Your Mark, asshole." Mandy spat, pointing at Ian's bare chest.

Oh shit. 

In his drunken carelessness, he forgot to wear a shirt to bed. He never does. Hell, he'd be naked if it weren't for Mandy. 

But still, his plan to hide this shit until he figured it out had gone up in flames, and it was no one's fault but his. 

Fuck. 

"Um, well..." Ian stammered, wracking his tired, hungover brain for some kind of cover story. 

"Who was it? When did it happen? Why didn't you TELL me?" Mandy rattled off the questions in rapid fire succession, not even pausing to breathe. 

Ian squirmed, standing on unsteady legs and reaching for his discarded t shirt. He struggled to turn it outside right, moving to pull it over his head. Mandy was quicker, however, snatching it out of his hands and tossing it on the floor behind her. 

"No." she said, voice hard. "Don't you fucking dare." she took a step closer to him, examining his technicolor Mark with wide, disbelieving eyes. 

Ian huffed, his anxiety spiking as Mandy oogled him like a rare art piece. What the fuck? 

"Ian, they're....beautiful. You're so lucky." Before Ian could get his brain online to muster a response, Mandy was touching him. Reverently running her fingers along his brightly colored Mark. 

Ian jumped like he'd been shocked, staggering back. It didn't feel right, Mandy touching them. It made his skin crawl. A full body chill wracked his body and he shivered. "Fuck." 

"What?" Mandy asks, quirking an eyebrow. 

"Feels weird, didn't like it." Ian mumbled, confused. 

"Y'know, I heard some shit like that a long time ago. Like, how if someone besides your Match touched your Marks, you get all skeeved out. I've never seen it happen in real life before." 

"Yeah, well...." Ian replied, still very uncomfortable. Now that Mandy knows he's met his Match, there's no way she's going to let this go. And Ian has no idea what to tell her. 

He doesn't even know what's going on himself. How can he explain it to her?

"Ian, who was it?" Mandy circles back to her original question and Ian's stomach drops. He just stares at her, his lips moving but no sound coming out. 

Mandy stares at him, head cocked to the side, and Ian knows she's running through her memories of the previous evening. He can practically see the wheels turning in her head. His heart starts pounding and he can feel a sweat breaking out on the back of his neck. Even though only seconds pass, it feels like hours to Ian. When it finally clicks, Mandy's face falls, an expression of utter shock and dismay taking over her features. 

God damn it. 

"Ian." Mandy says, voice low. "Did you get your Colors last night? From my brother?" 

Ian swallowed, his eyes flitting away for a split second. 

It was enough. 

"Mick... Mickey's not gay." Mandy whispered, falling down on Ian's bed like dead weight. "I would have known. He would have told me." Mandy sounded so lost, so sad. Ian's heart broke for her. He was about to sit down next to her and pull her into a hug when she turned on him, fire in her eyes.

"How could you keep this from me?" she demanded, jumping up from the bed and getting in Ian's face. "You lied. All this time. How long has it been going on? Why would you two keep this from me?" 

"Mandy, Mandy, whoa." Ian said, hands up in surrender. "I didn't know, I promise. And I don't think he did either. It was a fucking accident. I spilled my drink on him, followed him to the bathroom. We had some words. It all happened so fast." 

"But, you must have had some kind of feeling, Ian. An inkling that Mickey was your Match. That is how it works." 

Ian sighed, running his fingers through his hair in agitation. "Honestly, I thought it was just a stupid crush. Unrequited bullshit. I know you probably don't want to hear this, but I just thought I was hot for him." Ian sighed, thinking about how he'd been so smitten with Mickey, so sure it'd never amount to anything. He's honestly still not sure. "Y'know, I never thought it was going to actually go anywhere. I can't imagine it will now either." 

Mandy stared at Ian, mouth hanging open. She feels like the slowest idiot on the planet. Ian may be in denial, but Mandy is not. She knows how soulmates work. There is no way in hell Ian would get his Mark from Mickey unless they were meant to be, and Mickey felt the same way. 

He brother is gay. 

And he didn't trust her enough to tell her. 

Tears sting Mandy's eyes and she blinks them back furiously. Now is not the time. She drops back down on the bed, his brain trying to process this new, confusing information. She looks up at Ian, and she can see the uncertainty and doubt clouding his face. Her heart breaks for him. 

"Ian, don't do that. Don't negate what happened last night. You got your Colors. It's amazing." she smiled, trying to convey her sincerity to her friend. Ian looked so lost, so unsure. Mandy wanted to fix it. "Did Mickey get his too?" she asks, even though she knows the answer. 

It always happens the same way, after all. 

"Yeah." Ian replied quietly, the smallest smile ghosting his lips. "I grabbed his wrist when he tried to walk away, and he turned around and shoved me." Ian chuckled at the memory, dropping down on the bed next to his friend. 

Mandy laughed with him. 

"That is so the way Mick would get his Mark." 

"I just wish he hadn't run away, Mands. What does that mean?" Ian's voice broke and Mandy reached up, wrapping her arm around him and pulling him down against her shoulder. She pressed his head against her neck, running her fingers through his hair. She used to do this all the time when they were kids. When Ian would get anxious about school or bills or Frank. Mandy would hold him like this, petting him like a cat until he calmed down again. 

Seemed to still do the trick. 

As soon as Ian was calm again, Mandy starting giggling. The absurdity of the moment hit her so hard she felt weak in the knees. 

Ian and her brother were fucking soulmates. Big Gay Soulmates. 

What are the odds? 

"I'm not quite sure. I have to say, this is all quite a shock, Ian." Mandy muttered, earning herself a weak little chuckle from her friend. "But, I know my brother, and I doubt him bailing had anything to do with you or not wanting you. If Mick's been carrying around this secret for god knows how long, he's gotta be scared shitless. And I don't blame him. You know our father, Ian. If he ever caught wind of Mickey being queer, he'd skin him alive. And I'm not exaggerating." 

Ian shivered, tears welling up in his eyes again. He knows. He knows what kind of man Terry Milkovich is. He can't imagine what it must've been like for Mickey, growing up gay in that house. 

"So please, believe me when I say it's not about you. It's about him, and his own fucked up shit. If I know Mick at all, he's probably losing his shit too, right at this very moment. But he'll do the right thing." 

"You think?" Ian asks, glancing up at Mandy with this cautiously hopeful expression that broke Mandy's heart all over again. 

"I do." Mandy smiled. "I gotta admit, though, I never would have guessed Mick was gay. I mean, he's fucked so many girls..." Mandy trailed off when she caught sight of Ian's stricken face. "Hey, come on... I didn't mean... You know what? It doesn't matter. He was probably just trying to cover his ass." 

Ian nodded, not really feeling all that much better. None of this got him any closer to an actual solution to his problem.

"I just don't know, Mands. What if he's never ready? What if it's not worth the risk to him? What if he wants to go on meds instead? What if he wants to do those government programs instead of being with me?" Ian was spiraling. He knows, logically, that he doesn't really know Mickey. But this is how soulmates work. A sudden and all consuming burst of passionate adoration. A desperate desire to be close to them, to love them. To be everything to them, do everything for them. Ian already feels those emotions burning in his body. He aches for Mickey. 

It's the strangest, yet most natural feeling in the world. And Ian finds he wouldn't change it for anything. 

"Ian, you know that's not how this works. I mean, sure, some people turn to medication if there is no way they can be with their Match. But you can be with Mick. You're just going to have to help him a little bit. He's gonna have to get out of his own way, and I think you may have to guide him some." Mandy huffed out a laugh. "I can't believe I'm saying this, but I think you guys could be really happy together. He's lucky to have you as his Match, Ian." 

Ian grinned, all his residual anxiety bleeding out of him, replaced by a peaceful determination.

Mickey is his Match. And Ian's going to fix this shit. He doesn't want to forget. He doesn't want to look the other way. He doesn't want to pretend it never happened. He doesn't care if he has to go straight through Terry Milkovich to get him.

Ian's going after Mickey. 

Ian stood from the bed quickly, grabbing up his discarded shirt and throwing it on before moving to grab his jeans. "I gotta go see him." he mutters, reaching for his phone on the nightstand. 

"Lemme come with you." Mandy replies, moving toward her clothes. Ian's not thinking clearly in the moment, and Mandy doesn't think it's such a great idea for him to roll up on her dad's house with declarations of gay love and his big tie-dyed homo MatchMarks. 

She better go with, make sure no one gets stabbed. 

Soon, the two old friends are making their way down Ian's street, toward the corner where the Milkovich house looms over the neighborhood like a dark cloud. 

Ian has no idea what's going to happen when he gets there, but for the first time in a long time, he's certain he's doing the right thing.

 

***

 

Mickey barely slept at all last night. He tried. He really fucking tried. He tossed and turned, smoked a joint, drank three more beers and even snagged one of Mandy prescription benzos for her Terry-induced PTSD.

Nothing helped. 

He ended up getting super fucked up, but just couldn't relax his brain enough to actually pass out. His mind was a fucking mess, thoughts and feelings swirling in his head like a god damn tsunami. Fear and stress and sadness, mixed with elation and lust, with just a smidgen of soul crushing adoration. 

Ian fucking Gallagher. His soulmate. His Match. 

Mickey still can't comprehend it, even after hours of doing nothing but thinking about it. Dissecting the moment in his mind countless times. 

The way Ian's fingers felt wrapped around his wrist. The shock wave of pleasure that ripped up his spine at the contact. The flash flood of moments that inundated his mind at their first touch. The swell of passion and yearning that throbbed in his chest. The way his whole being ached for Ian. 

Looking back on it now, it seems absurd, but Mickey knows it really happened. He knows Ian is his soulmate. And he knows he doesn't want to let that go. Even though he should. It's reckless and dangerous to expose Ian to the chaotic, brutal shit that Mickey calls his life. If Terry ever figures this shit out, he'd gut them both.

So Mickey's stuck. 

He rolls over onto his back, tucking a hand behind his head as he stares at the stained ceiling of his bedroom. He closes his eyes, breathing slowly. Ian's face pops up in his mind's eye and he smiles. Is this what his life is going to be now? Smiling like an idiot over a guy he barely knows? Mickey couldn't explain it if someone paid him, but just envisioning Ian's smiling face is enough to soothe his frayed nerves and calm his restless spirit. 

Yeah, he can't let this go on. 

He has to figure out his next move. He has to find a way to make this work. How? He has no idea. 

But he figures his first step should be discussing the matter with the person at the center of his dilemma. 

He has to go find Ian. 

He jumps up from his bed and grabs last night's jeans off the floor, pulling them up over his hips in a hurry. His eyes scan his room for a semi-clean shirt as he stumbles across the cluttered space to grab his cigarettes and phone. 

Once he's dressed and ready to go, he opens his door and moves to step in the hallway, colliding with his sister. 

"Ah, fuck." Mickey spat, rubbing his sore forehead. He and Mandy had knocked skulls pretty hard. "What the hell, Mands?" 

 

***

 

Mandy opens the door to her house and stops short, one foot in the house, one foot on the porch.

Shit. 

Terry is passed out on the couch. 

Her father look disgusting, as usual. Face down on the filthy sofa in his stained boxer shorts. Empty liquor bottles and a variety of drug paraphernalia litter the coffee table in front of him. He's snoring and drooling and Mandy wants to puke just looking at him.

She turns to Ian, placing a hand on his chest and pushing him back out onto the porch. "Dad's inside, stay out here. I'll get Mickey to come out and we'll go somewhere else to talk about this shit." 

Ian opens his mouth to argue, but Mandy put a hand over his mouth, silencing him. "Ian, my dad has a loaded 9mm on the coffee table, right next to his crack pipe. You don't want to be in there if he wakes up, trust me." 

Ian nodded, even though he wanted to disagree. If it wasn't safe for Ian, how could it possibly be safe for someone as small as Mandy?

Mandy grinned, dropping her hand and moving back through the open door. "I'll be right out, okay? Stay right here." 

Ian didn't say anything, just nodded once more, tucking his hands into his pockets and leaning up against the busted railing. 

He doesn't know how Mandy is going to fix this, but he does know he needs to see Mickey soon. Ian is feeling desperate, almost itchy. Like his body doesn't feel right without his Match. Ian's never been one to get attached. Boyfriends, friends, they all came and went. Ian just assumed it was part of life. No one stayed forever. 

But now that he's found his Match, Ian is feeling all kinds of ways he's never experienced before. Like he can't wait to spend forever with Mickey. Getting to know him, falling in love with every part of him, spending his life making him happy. Caring for him, protecting him, worshiping him. 

It's all quite strange. You'd think Ian had been crushing on Mickey hard forever, the way he's thinking now. When in reality, Ian hadn't thought about Mickey in years until recently. 

Ian's been dreaming of his Match since he got his Mark. Intimate moments imprinted on his subconscious. The way his voice sounds, the gentle press of his fingers, the delicious taste of him. Ian had never been able to conjure up and actual picture in his head, the other man's features always vague, a little distorted. But now, after all that has happened, Ian knows it was Mickey all along. Every image he's ever conjured of his Match, every unclear picture, every sensation just out of reach, it's all perfectly clear in his mind now. Mickey's smile, his hands, the way he quirks his eyebrow when he's had quite enough of your shit. 

Ian is overwhelmed in the moment by the gravity of the situation. Mickey is his Match. It's been Mickey all along. 

Ian smiles, reaching up to ghost his fingers over his Mark. It tingles when he touches it, and Ian's smile grows. 

God, he's so excited. This is going to be amazing. Ian's found his Match. 

He's so lost in thought, he almost didn't hear the thud. He dropped his hand, taking a single step toward the door, straining to hear. 

Did he hear that? Or is his fucked up head playing tricks on him? 

Ian listens, waiting. Nothing.

He feels like an idiot. 

Until he hears it again. Louder. A thud. Like someone tripped. Then screaming. 

Mandy.  
Glass breaking.  
More screaming.  
Terry.  
Fuck. 

Ian's moving before he knows what he's doing. Through the door, past the disgusting living room, through the hallway. 

He follows the screaming to the back of the house. Mickey's room. 

 

***

 

"Mick, good. I'm glad you're here." Mandy said, taking in her brother. He's dressed already, which Mandy hopes means he was on his way to find Ian. "Ian's here, we should all go down to Della's Diner and talk." 

"We? What the fuck are you talking about? Why the hell would I want to go anywhere with you and Gallagher?" Mickey asks, stepping away from the door and dropping down on his bed. Mandy follows him inside, standing by his bureau, arms crossed over her chest. Her eyes catch on his wrist. It's bruised up, and there's a brace laying on his nightstand. But even under the discoloration of the bruising, Mandy can see his Mark, clear as day, swirling blues and greens along the expanse of his swollen wrist. 

Mickey is confused, and frankly caught off guard by his sister's words. What does she know? How much did Ian tell her?

The grim set of her face tells Mickey all he needs to know. 

Ian told her everything. 

"Don't dick me around, Mick." Mandy said, voice still hard. "Ian told me everything. The more important question is, why didn't you? Don't you trust me? What the fuck? Does Iggy know?" 

"Know what?" Mickey countered, still clinging to his plausible deniability. 

"Fuck off." Mandy spat. "Does Iggy know that you're gay?" 

"Mandy! Shut the fuck up!" Mickey barked, his eyes flitting to the living room where Terry was still snoring. 

Mandy just glared at him, eyebrows raised. She waited. 

Mickey shut the door before turning back to his sister. 

"No, I didn't tell Iggy. I didn't tell anyone." Mickey said, voice low. 

"Mick, why? Don't you trust us? You know we're not like Dad. I don't give a fuck if you're gay." 

"I know that Mands, it wasn't about that, okay? I just didn't want to drag you guys into it. If Terry ever found out, he'd kill me. If he found out you or Igg knew, he'd fucking kill you too. I couldn't bring you guys into that. I had to protect us all. Y'know what I mean?" 

"Oh Mick." Mandy sighed. "I get it, but I just hate the idea of you going through this on your own all this time." 

"It's whatever, Mandy. I did what I had to to keep us all safe."

"So, what's your plan now?" Mandy asks. "I mean, Ian's outside. We gotta figure out what you guys are gonna do."

"He's really here?" Mickey replies, his heart picking up speed in his chest. The Mark on his wrist tingles as anticipation swirls in his gut. 

"Yeah." Mandy nods, a small smile tugging at her lips. "He really wants to see you, figure out your next step." 

"Yeah?" Mickey can't hide how excited he is. "I thought he'd be pissed that I bolted like that last night. I didn't mean to, Mands, I was just so freaked out."

"I get it, Mick. And so does Ian. But you guys gotta talk this out, figure out what you wanna do next. Ian's scared you're gonna go on meds." 

"What?" Mickey balks. "No way. I just, I just wanted to keep him safe. Until I figured out what to do about Terry." 

"Well, I don't know what we're gonna do, but I do know you guys have to do it together. Ian's your soulmate, Mick. You guys need to be together." 

Mickey smiled, nodding. He opened his mouth to agree, but was cut off. 

His bedroom door went flying open, slamming into the wall. The drywall cracked, dust and debris crumbling to the carpet. 

Terry stood in the doorway, looking surprisingly menacing in his plaid boxers. 

"Over my dead body." Terry murmured, cracking his knuckles. "I ain't having no fucking faggot in my family. You disgusting ass digger piece of shit." Terry is deceptively calm as he strides into Mickey's bedroom and gets in his face. "Tell me I heard wrong. Tell me this shit..." he grabs Mickey's wrist hard examining his newly colored Mark. "is not from some fucking cocksucking faggot." 

Mickey ripped his hand away, stumbling backwards. He was desperate to put some distance between his father and himself. He didn't speak, warily glancing between Terry and Mandy. 

"Answer me, boy. Who gave you your Colors?" 

Mickey swallowed, looking away. 

Fuck this. 

There's no way out of this, so he may as well just go for it. 

"A guy." he spat, defiant. He's scared as shit, but he's not gonna let that show. Let Terry come at him. He's done fucking hiding. "A guy gave me my Colors, cuz I'm fucking gay." 

Terry's face fell, his eyes wide, like he couldn't comprehend what his son has just said. The confusion morphs into rage in a matter of seconds, and Terry is on Mickey before Mickey can even react. 

Mickey's back hits the floor hard, all the air forcing it's way out of his lungs in a pained huff. His father clamors on top of him, pinning him to the floor with his body as he straddles his waist. He brings his fist down hard, and Mickey's head snaps back, cracking the back of his skull on the hardwood. Mickey can hear his sister screaming in the background, but it sounds distorted and far away. All he can focus on his the homophobic vitriol his father is spewing and the sounds of his fists hitting Mickey's body, over and over. 

His father is pummeling him. In the face, in the stomach. Blow after blow, raining down on Mickey in a flurry of aggression. Mickey tries to cover his face, but it's useless. He coughs, blood spraying from his mouth. He's got a broken nose, maybe some shattered teeth. His mouth his a mess of blood and spit. He pinches his eyes shut against the sting of blood. 

"Fucking faggot, I'll kill you." Terry bellowed, wrapping his meaty fingers around Mickey's throat. Mickey chokes, but no sound comes out. His father is fucking strangling him, literally chocking the life out of him. Mickey gasps, but it's useless. He's dizzy, his vision going spotty. 

"Stop!" Mandy screeched, beating on Terry's back with her fists. Terry spun around, shoving Mandy hard. She went flying across the room, her back connecting with Mickey's dresser. She cried out, crumpling to the floor in a heap of tears and anxiety. 

Terry turned back to his original target, punching Mickey in the side of the head. Mickey's head jerked to the side, yet more blood flying from his mouth. 

"I ain't having no fucking queer bait ass reamer in my family." 

Mickey reached up, weakly trying to push Terry off of him. 

"Don't touch me, you disgusting piece of shit." Terry spat, shoving his hand away. He cocked his hand back to deliver another blow, but his hand didn't move. Caught in an iron grip above his head. 

Terry turned, confused. There's no way his cunt daughter would be dumb enough to try and step in again. 

"Get the fuck off him." Ian said, voice low. 

"Who the fuck are you?" Terry growled, not bothering to get off Mickey. He wasn't done yet, and this little asshole was the next to catch a beating if he didn't fuck off. 

"I'm the faggot you're so concerned about." Ian replied, taking a single step back as he grabs Terry by his filthy hair and dragging his head down, kneeing Terry right in the face. 

Terry howled in pain, falling off of Mickey and clutching his bleeding, broken nose with his hands. 

While Terry was distracted, Ian grabbed Mickey, dragging him by his wrists out of the room and into the hallway. Mandy followed behind them, looking horrified. 

"Ian, what the fuck? What do we do now?" 

Mickey was barely conscious, covered in blood and a variety of heartbreaking wounds. 

"We go outside and call the cops." Ian replied, scooping Mickey up in his arms bridal style and making his way to the front door. 

"I don't have my phone, I can't call the cops." Mandy replied, following Ian onto the porch. 

"I called 'em." Iggy said. Mandy turned, surprised to see her other brother leaning against the railing, grim expression on his face. "I know, I know. No cops, ever. But that prick almost killed my brother." 

"Iggy, how long have you been here?" Ian asks, gently laying Mickey down on the porch and resting his bloody head on his lap. 

"Just long enough to see you go ballistic on Terry. Called the pigs just now. I was gonna step in, but you seemed to have it handled." Iggy grinned around his cigarette. 

"So you don't care?" Ian asks, glancing between Iggy and Mandy. 

"Care about what? That Mick's gay? Or that you just beat Terry's ass? Cuz honestly, I don't give a shit who Mick bangs, and that bigoted asshole had it coming." Iggy just shrugged at Mandy's confused expression. "What? Did you really think I was anything like that prick?" 

Mandy shook her head, grinning. "No, I guess not." 

Ian smiled, relieved. He had been worried for a second there. But it seems that Mickey's brother is nothing like his father, and for that Ian is grateful. 

It's silent for a moment between the group. Iggy and Mandy smoking cigarettes, Ian cradling Mickey's head in his lap, gently running his fingers through Mickey's blood-matted hair. 

There's a noise from inside the house, and everyone's head whip around in comic synchronicity. 

Terry is standing in the doorway, blood on his face and running down his bare chest. He's got his gun in his hand and a twisted, menacing expression on his face. 

Mickey is just coming to when Terry's voice slices through his head, terrifying him. 

"Well lookie here, I got you all right where I want you. Inside, right the fuck now. Or I'm gonna kill every last one of you fuckers."  


"Dad, c'mon." Iggy tries to reason, but Terry just aims the gun at him, cocking his head to the side. 

"You gonna take these faggots side over your old man?" Terry spat, bitter. "I raised you better than this." 

"Dad, please, Mick's not hurting anyone." Mandy reasoned. 

"Nobody asked you, you little bitch." Terry retorted before locking eyes with Ian. "Get the hell off my property and stay away from my family." he cocked the gun, aiming it right at Ian's forehead. 

"I'm not going anywhere." Ian replied calmly. He smirked at Terry's wrathful, gobsmacked expression. "But you are." Ian looked over just as the cruisers pulled up. Three of them. The Chicago police did not fuck around where Terry Milkovich was concerned. 

"You called the fucking pigs?" Terry raged, dropping his gun and lunging for Ian. Ian takes the brunt of the hit, tumbling down the stairs with Terry on top of him. Terry gets in a few good hits before the cops are pulling him off, kicking and screaming. 

"Fucking faggots. I'll kill you." he roars, straining against the hold of the police. He turns to Mickey, fire in his eyes. "You're no son of mine, you hear me? Get the fuck outta my house! I'm gonna fucking end you. You and your cum guzzling queer boyfriend." 

"Terry, Terry. Chill out man." Martinez mutters. Martinez, a neighborhood cop who knows Terry all to well, can tell already what's going on here. He clicks the cuffs on Terry's wrists, hauling the other man away with a rough hand on his shoulder. "Terry, you're under arrest for assault with a deadly weapon, again. You have the right to remain silent...." he continues to read Terry his rights as he drags him toward the cruiser. 

Tony Markovich wanders up to Mickey and Ian, who are still sitting on the porch with Mandy and Iggy. Both men are covered in blood and bruises, but surprisingly they look pretty damn happy. "Guys, wanna tell me what happened here today?" Tony asks, his gaze traveling around the group. 

"Not much to it." Mickey muttered, leaning against Ian heavily. "My dad's not really into the idea of his son being a faggot, or the fact that his Match is another dude." 

Tony glanced between Ian and Mickey, his eyes catching on Mickey's brightly colored Mark on his wrist. 

"Oh wow, you guys got your Marks? Congratulations. That's great." Tony says without thinking. "Well, y'know, besides the beating." 

"Yeah, thanks." Ian chuckled. 

Terry is still raging in the back of the cruiser. Screaming and banging his head on the window glass. Tony glances over, then down at his notepad. 

"So, it looks like what we have here is assault and battery, with extenuating circumstances of a hate crime, anti-gay as well as anti-Match, which will add considerable time to his sentence. Assault with a deadly weapon. Possession of a firearm by a convicted felon. I'm gonna go over this with my superior, see what else we can charge him with. Hopefully he'll be going away for life this time." 

Mickey's heart jumped in his chest. Terry, going away for life? Could they really get that lucky? 

"You think so?" Mandy asks, her voice hopeful. 

Looks like Mickey's not the only one excited about the prospect of a future without Terry. 

"Yeah, I do." Tony smiled. "He's a career criminal that just almost killed someone. Not to mention threatened to commit murder in front of two cops. You guys may have to talk to the DA, testify maybe. But I think we have a good shot at getting him gone for a long time. Forever, if we're lucky." 

Forever. 

Mickey hadn't ever really thought about forever. What it meant. What could it mean to someone like him? 

Looks like things may just be changing for him. Forever sounded pretty damn good, if his forever included Ian. 

"Here." Tony said, handing Mickey his card. "I'm sure the DA will be in touch, but you guys can call me any time, if you have any questions or concerns." 

"Uh, thanks." Mickey said, pocketing the card. 

"Okay, well, you guys have a good day." Tony smiled, giving a little wave as he turned back toward his cruiser. 

Mickey watched him go, a strange feeling swirling in his stomach. 

Freedom. 

Mickey was finally fucking free. He turned toward Ian, smiling. Ian smiled right back, his eyes a little sad as they took in the myriad of bruises on Mickey's beautiful face. 

"Let's get you cleaned up." Ian muttered softly, pushing a lock of bloody hair out of Mickey's eye. Mickey nodded, letting Ian help him up. 

"Iggy, why don't we leave them to it, huh?" Mandy asks, giving Iggy a meaningful look. 

"Oh, yeah. Sure." Iggy replies, glancing over at Ian and Mickey. The last thing he wants to do is hang out in the house while his brother gets 'acquainted' with his Match. "Regina asked me if I wanted to chill tonight, guess I could head down there." 

"Yeah, and Jessa asked me if I wanted to hit up that new club with her. I'll probably just spend the night at her house." 

"We get it, guys." Mickey chuckled. "And I appreciate having the house to ourselves tonight." he could hear Ian giggle quietly behind him. Let him laugh. The situation was quite fucked. 

Mickey was sure after the shock wore off, he'd have to deal with the Iggy and Mandy. The fact that he hid this part of himself from them. But from the way they reacted so far, Mickey is hopeful it won't be an issue. He's never found himself in a situation like this before, but he's cautiously optimistic that his siblings may just have his back after all. 

The look Mandy and Iggy are giving him right now makes him feel warm inside. Like maybe he's been scared for no reason all along. Without Terry in the way, maybe they can try to be an actual family...

"Good." Mandy smirked. "Welcome to the family, Ian. It's gonna be awesome having a brother-in-law I can go shopping with."

Ian blushed, smiling. Mandy darted forward, gripping Ian's shirt in a tight fist and kissing his burning cheek. 

With that, Mandy and Iggy gathered up their things from the house and made their way out into the neighborhood. Ian and Mickey wandered back into the house, Mickey leading Ian into the bathroom so they could clean up. 

It should have been awkward, the two of them in the bathroom cleaning blood of each other's faces. They didn't know each other, and they had just gone through some serious shit. But it wasn't awkward at all. It felt like the most natural thing in the world. 

Ian guided Mickey to sit on the closed toilet seat while he rummaged around under the sink for first aid supplies. He dropped the case onto the vanity and opened it, taking out some peroxide, bandages, butterfly stitches. He grabbed some antiseptic wipes, ripping one open with his teeth. He grabbed Mickey under the chin, tilting his head up toward the light. 

"Tell me if I hurt you." Ian muttered quietly as he gingerly cleaned Mickey's wounds. 

Mickey gave him a little nod, not bothering to tell Ian no one had ever been so gentle with him. Ian cleaned his wounds like he was handing spun gold and not the bruised, scarred up face of a south side scumbag. 

Mickey wasn't quite sure what to do with all that tenderness, so he just closed his eyes and let Ian do his thing. 

Ian closed a cut over Mickey's eyebrow with a butterfly stitch, but the rest of the wounds were superficial. He patted Mickey's shoulder when he was done and the other man looked up at him, a small smile on his lips. 

"Here, let me get you now." Mickey said quietly, leaning on the sink for support as he stood. Ian shook his head. 

"I'm fine." 

"Ian, sit the fuck down." Mickey ordered, eyebrows raised. Ian worried for a second that Mickey would reopen his wound if he kept that shit up, so he obediently sat down, huffing a little. 

"I'm fine." Ian repeated as Mickey went about cleaning the blood off his face. 

"Just let me help you." Mickey replied, running an alcohol wipe along the side of Ian's face. Ian flinched, but didn't pull back. 

"Mickey, why did you leave?" Ian asks before he can think better of it. He expects Mickey to get angry, but the other man just sighs, shrugging. He finishes cleaning up Ian's face and offers him his hand. 

"C'mon. Let's go to my room. We can talk in there." 

Ian grins, letting Mickey's smile soothe his insecurities. He took Mickey's hand, a little shocked at the tiny thrill that shot up his arm at the contact. Mickey glanced back, his expression giving away the fact that he'd felt it too. Ian just smiled again, nodding. Mickey shrugged, grinning back as he led Ian to his bedroom. 

"Sorry about the mess." Mickey muttered, shutting the door behind them as Ian sat on his bed, picking up an open book and a butterfly knife and dropping them on the nightstand so he could sit. "I wasn't expecting company."  


"Really?" Ian replied, smirking. "You didn't think I'd be coming to find you?" he patted the empty spot next to him on the mattress and Mickey dropped down beside him. 

"I mean, I wouldn't blame you if you didn't." Mickey replied quietly. "I was a fucking idiot last night. I'm sorry." 

"Hey, come on." Ian said, carefully scooting closer. "After what happened today with your father, I understand why your first instinct was to run. I don't blame you one bit." 

"I knew." Mickey said, glancing up at Ian. He was so close, Mickey could see all the different shades of green in his eyes. Light and dark, flecks of gold and yellow swimming in his luminous irises. Ian was fucking gorgeous. Perfect. 

And he was his Match. 

Imagine that. 

"I knew you were my Match, and it scared the shit outta me. I haven't known for long, I mean, I wasn't sure, y'know? But all the signs were there. Guess I was in denial, cuz I was scared or whatever." 

"Signs?" Ian asks, curious. 

"Yeah, signs." Mickey chuckled. "Dreams, Ian. I've been dreaming about you for a long time now. Why, you haven't been dreaming of your Match?" Mickey is unable to hide the insecure lilt to his voice, suddenly feeling like maybe he's shared too much. 

"Oh." Ian smiled, closing the last tiny bit of distance between them. "I have. Been dreaming about my Match, I mean." Ian's eyes flitted all over Mickey's face. He was bruised up, lip swollen, eyes red, little scratches on his cheeks and neck. But he was still beautiful. "It's just that I could never see his face." Ian breathed, his hand coming up to rest tenderly on Mickey's swollen cheek. "I could never see your face." 

Mickey could feel his face heating up under Ian's adoring gaze. "Yeah." he agreed. "It was always vague. Until recently. But these past few weeks, it was clear to me. It was you. It's always been you, Ian." Mickey reached up, his hand curling around the back of Ian's neck. "I shoulda said something. I shouldn't have ran. I'm so sorry. If not for me, this shit with Terry woulda never happened today." Mickey grimaced, pained. 

"Hey, don't do that." Ian insisted. He dropped his hand down, curling his fingers around Mickey's wrist instead, his fingers finding Mickey's Mark easily. Mickey shivered, a shot of ecstasy tingling up his arm at the touch. His Mark felt hot, almost throbbing with little pulses of pleasure under Ian's fingers. "This stuff happens just the way it is meant to. Right? And yeah, we got our asses beat today, but your dad is gone now. And we can do whatever we want." 

Mickey smiled, feeling light in a way he hasn't experienced before. Ian was right. Terry was gone, and Ian was here. They were soulmates, and they had the rest of their lives to figure this out. The prospect was incredibly exciting to Mickey. 

He let the emotions overtake him, acting on instinct. He was free to be and do whatever he wanted. And right now, he wanted Ian. 

He glanced up at the other man, his eyes shining. "Yeah. We can do whatever we want." with that, he laid his hands on Ian's chest, right over his Marks. Ian sighed, his body melting into Mickey's touch. His Marks burned, but it didn't hurt. It was the most incredible feeling he's ever experienced. 

Mickey kept his hands on Ian's chest, running his fingers along the muscles underneath his shirt. Ian's eyes slipped closed, his body reacting quickly to the simple contact. 

"Can I see?" Mickey asks, his fingers moving to the buttons on Ian's shirt. Ian nods, eyes still closed. Mickey makes quick work of the buttons, slipping Ian's shirt off his shoulders and tossing it to the floor. He pushes Ian to lay back on the mattress as his eyes take in Ian's colorful Marks. The bright blues and greens stand out on Ian's pale, sculpted chest. Mickey grins, staring at his own hand prints on Ian's body. He places his hands over the Marks, delighted when Ian groans at the touch. 

"Feels so good." Ian mumbles. "I had no idea Marks worked this way." 

"Me either." Mickey whispered, his fingers dancing along Ian's exposed chest. He's hit in that moment with the realization that he's not even kissed Ian yet. 

Well, that just won't do. 

Mickey's not a big kisser. Never has been. He just didn't see the appeal. When he was with girls, it was mechanical. A means to an end: to hide his secret. So he'd let them suck his dick, fuck them doggy style, whatever. Then he'd run his mouth to whoever would listen, ensuring the news of his activities got back to his father. On the rare occasion when he'd get to fuck another guy, kissing was the last thing he wanted. Those encounters were impersonal, also a means to an end. Another end entirely, however. Mickey had an itch that needed to be scratched now and again. A cock down his throat or buried in his ass. Kissing didn't have any part in that shit. Get in, get off, get out. 

But now, all he can think about is Ian's lips. 

Ian is looking up at him, his eyes wide, like he can't believe this is really happening. He licks his lips and Mickey's fucking done for. He pounces, straddling a startled Ian's waist and kissing him hard. His fingers sink into Ian's red hair as their lips meet. It's incredible, of course. Just like everything about Ian. 

Ian can't believe this shit. When he came over here today, he'd been cautiously optimistic that Mickey would be open to talking about their Marks. Now, the other man was laying on top of him, kissing him breathless. Ian grinned against Mickey's lips, delighted when Mickey's tongue met his again and again. Ian's hands came up to rest on Mickey's hips, holding him in place as they made out desperately. 

"Mickey. Mick, take this shit off. C'mon. Please." Ian is grabbing at Mickey's shirt, trying to pull it off without losing their connection. Mickey chuckles, leaning back. Ian whines at the loss, but Mickey's smiling as he stands from the bed. 

"Lose that shit." Mickey says, pointing to Ian's jeans as he pulls his shirt off. Mickey is working on his pants before Ian is even moving. His hands fumble with his zipper and soon he's shimmying out of his jeans and boxers, kicking them off the end of the bed just as Mickey finally strips the rest of his clothes. 

Ian stares, taking in the glory of Mickey's naked form for the first time. Ian's eyes drag down Mickey's body, the lines of his thick thigh muscles, the pale skin stretched across his chest, the softness of his stomach, the delicious curve of his incredible ass, the mouth watering way his cock stands away from his body, hard and leaking already. 

God, he wants him so bad. 

Mickey grins, crawling onto the bed over Ian. He hovers over him, running a hand up his chest. He drags his fingers along the hard muscles of Ian's pecs, watching with rapt attention as Ian gasps and arches into the simple touch. He slides his hand along Ian's mark, pleased when Ian gasps, his body trembling.

Ian's hands come up, gripping Mickey's ass hard. Mickey groans, pushing back into the feeling. Ian's touch feels so good, unlike anything Mickey's ever felt before. 

Ian pulls Mickey down so their bodies are flush together. Mickey's body is warm and heavy on top of his and Ian wants more. Mickey's fingers sink into Ian's hair, pulling their mouths together again. Ian kisses him hard, lips and tongue working fervently. Mickey tastes so good, feels so fucking good. Ian's so hard, his cock throbbing against Mickey's stomach as the other man gently rocks on top of him. 

Ian grips Mickey's ass hard in one hand, the other sliding up his rib cage, dragging along the heated flesh until he gets to Mickey's neck. He holds him tenderly, keeping him in place as he sucks and bites at his lips, desperation bleeding into his actions. 

Mickey hums, slipping his tongue into Ian's mouth, drunk on the taste of him. 

Fucking perfect. 

Ian can't help the whine that slips past his lips as Mickey grinds on top of him. It's so good, but he needs more. 

"Mick, Mickey. Please." Ian mumbles, his hands roaming along the planes of Mickey's back. 

"Yeah, okay." Mickey replies, overcome by the gravity of the moment. He sits up on Ian's lap, leaning over to rummage through his bedside table drawer. He comes back with a half used bottle of lube, dropping it on the sheets next to Ian's hip. 

Before Mickey can say anything more, Ian is gripping him around the waist and flipping them over. Mickey's back hits the bed and he huffs out a small laugh. He stares up at Ian hovering over him, a dirty smirk splitting his lips. 

"So that's how it's gonna be?" Mickey laughs. 

Ian just shrug, grabbing the lube. "So, from what I know about soulmates, we're perfect for each other, right? So I don't really NEED to ask you how you wanna do this?" he waved the lube in Mickey's blushing face and Mickey scoffed. 

"Cocky fucker." Mickey chuckled. "Yeah, whatever. Get me ready and get in me, smart ass." 

Ian beamed, his heart overflowing with adoration. He slicked up his fingers quickly, his heart pounding in anticipation.

Ian had been fantasizing about his soulmate since he was just a child. Wondering what he'd be like, wondering if it could really be as good as the stories he'd heard. 

As he looked down at Mickey, chest heaving, eyes dark with lust, lips pink and swollen, Ian realized that he'd had no idea. 

Mickey was more than any fantasy Ian's brain could ever conjure. 

He was everything. 

Ian's face hurt from smiling so much. He just can't comprehend the emotions he's feeling right now. This soulmate shit is heavy. 

He kissed Mickey one more time, hard on the mouth, before making his way slowly down his body. Ian dragged his tongue along Mickey's chest, lapping hungrily at the dips of his abs before laving slowly at his protruding hip bone. 

Mickey was breathing heavy, watching Ian's movements with wide eyes. Ian grinned up at him before gripping his rigid dick in one hand. 

Mickey gasped, his back arching as Ian stroked him slowly. Jesus, just a simple touch and Mickey felt like he was melting. 

Ian was painfully hard, leaking all over the bed, but he didn't give a fuck about that right now. He circled his wet fingers around Mickey's rim as he closed his lips around the head of his cock, sucking gently.

Mickey moaned, using all his control to not thrust up into Ian's warm mouth. God, what the fuck is happening to him? You'd think it was his first time. 

Well, it kind of is. His first time with the only person that really matters. 

Oh god, all the things he's going to do to Ian. Mickey has never been one to really open up sexually with any of his partners. His fantasies were just that: fantasies. Never actually coming to fruition. Doomed to stay locked in his spank bank for all eternity. 

But now that he'd found his Match, Mickey was unafraid to bring those kinky hopes and dreams to life. 

He can see it now, Ian's pale skin, flushed pink as he writhed under Mickey's body. Tied to the bed, maybe? Yeah, he could be into that. Or maybe...maybe Ian could gag him, bind his hands behind his back, take him any way he wants to. Mickey would trust him to do that. 

His imagination off and running, Mickey is shocked back to the present when Ian shoves two lubed up fingers into his ass. He shouts, jumping in surprise before rocking back into the sensation. Ian's laugh is muffled by Mickey's cock in his throat. 

Mickey laughs too. Jesus, he's a mess. 

Ian's not sure what Mickey's thinking, but all Ian can focus on is the heavy weight of Mickey on his tongue and the incredible way his body flexes around Ian's fingers. Ian preps him carefully, the last thing he wants to do is hurt him. But Mickey seems hungry for it, his hips working against Ian's hand in an increasingly erratic rhythm. 

Mickey's breathing heavy, his body hot as it twitches under Ian's touch. His head is swimming, a never ending stream of 'yes' and 'more' rolling through his brain as he completely loses himself to Ian. 

"Ian, okay, c'mon." he slurs, his fingers threading through Ian's damp red locks as his lover's head bobs on his dick. 

Ian can hear him, but he's too preoccupied to listen. He buries his face in Mickey's pubes, swallowing around the cock in his throat, utterly entranced by the feeling of Mickey throbbing in his mouth. God, it's perfection. Feels so good, tastes even better. Ian's so gone, it takes a sharp yank on his hair to pull him out of his trance. 

He lets Mickey's cock fall from his mouth, glancing up at his Match. Mickey's chest is heaving, his eyes so dark no blue is visible at all anymore. He's got little droplets of sweat dotting along his hairline and Ian is hit with the odd desire to lick them up. 

"Ian, you gotta...I'm not gonna last." 

Ian nodded, gently slipping his fingers free from Mickey's ass and crawling back over his body. Mickey instinctively wraps his legs around Ian's narrow hips, holding him close as their lips meet once more. 

Ian licks into Mickey's mouth languidly. All the heat and intensity from early is gone. All that's left is Ian and Mickey, in this quiet moment they've both been waiting their whole life for. Mickey's tongue slides into Ian's mouth, and Ian feels like he's falling in love all over again. His heart clenches in his chest and his cock throbs between his legs. Mickey's hands are hot on his body, gripping and scratch ever so gently. 

Ian's falling apart. 

"Ian, please." Mickey whispers into the space between their mouths. Mickey's not one to beg, but if something doesn't happen soon, he's gonna lose his shit. 

"Yeah." Ian mutters, grabbing the lube and leaning back just enough to slick up his dick. He lines up with Mickey's stretched hole, but stop short of actually breaching him. "Condom?" he hates to ask, but he has to. 

"I just got tested two weeks ago. I'm clean." Mickey sighs, hitching his leg up higher on Ian's hip. 

"Me too. Last month." Ian nods, relieved. He realizes in that moment, he won't ever need to get tested again. He and Mickey can go together one last time, and then never again. He'll get to have incredible sex with just his Match for the rest of his life. 

The thought sends a thrill down his spine. 

His Match. His fucking soulmate. 

"Ian, what's up?" Mickey pulls him out of his head, squeezing his hips with his thighs. Ian smiles down at him, shy all of the sudden. 

"I was just thinking about how lucky I am. To have found you." 

Mickey smiles up at him, hooking his hand around the back of Ian's head and pulling him down into another heated kiss. 

"It is amazing, Ian. But I need you to fuck me now, okay?" 

Ian laughed, nodding. He pushed forward slowly, watching Mickey's face for any signs of discomfort. Mickey just stared up at him, breathing through the stretch, a tiny smile on his lips. 

"Fuck. Okay. Yeah." Mickey rambled. He knew Ian was big, but jesus. 

Ian just kept pushing, slow, steady pressure until he was fully seated. "Oh Mickey." he sighed, collapsing on top of his lover. 

Mickey's back arched, taking Ian just that much deeper. "Holy shit." he whispered. Ian nodded, against Mickey's shoulder, chuckling. 

Once Mickey had a moment to adjust, Ian gripped him hard under his ass with one hand and rolled his hips. 

"Oh fuck." Mickey cried. Ian took that as a good sign and kept that pace. He fucked Mickey slow, but hard, each thrust precise and purposeful. Mickey was a writhing, moaning mess, his body meeting Ian's over and over. 

They were both covered in sweat, clinging to each other desperately. There wasn't an inch of space between them, their slick bodies sliding against each other. Mickey's cock trapped between their torsos, the friction of Ian moving against him enough to drive him crazy. 

"You feel so good." Ian whispered against Mickey's ear, biting the flesh of his neck hard enough to bruise. 

Mickey cried out, bucking hard. Ian went flying to the side, a shocked yelp slipping past his lips as his back hit the mattress with a thud. 

Mickey clamored on top of him, grabbing Ian's dick and impaling himself on it before Ian could even ask what was going on. 

The new position was incredible. Mickey could feel Ian so much deeper on top. He spread his legs wide over Ian's narrow hips, grinding down on his dick. He arched his back and moaned loud when Ian grazed his prostate. 

"Oh, you like that?" Ian laughed, his hands coming up to Mickey's hips, guiding his movements on top of him. 

"Fuck yeah I do." Mickey groaned, his hands finding Ian's Marks without thought. He pressed his hands to the blue/green spots on Ian's chest, steadying himself as he rode Ian hard. The hot spark of pleasure ripping down his spine was expected. Touching his Mark on Ian's body was like it's own sexual act. Ian reacted as if he'd been shocked, his body bowing off the bed, an inhuman moan ripping itself from his chest.

His fingers dug into Mickey's ass hard enough to draw blood. 

Mickey growled, throwing his hips down on Ian's dick harder and harder. He fucked Ian with his whole body, reveling in each and every gasp and moan from his lover. He kept his hands planted on Ian's Mark, soaking up the sensation as he worked them both closer to orgasm. 

"Mick, I'm close." Ian ground out, thrusting up into Mickey's body. 

"Yeah." Mickey nodded, throwing his head back as he worked his ass on Ian's lap. "Yeah, fuck. Me too." one of his hands left Ian's chest to jerk his cock. He had to come, he felt like he was gonna explode. 

Ian's eyes snapped open and he saw Mickey's hand moving toward his dick, which was bobbing obscenely in the air as Mickey worked Ian's dick like a pro. No, that won't do at all. Without thought, Ian wrapped his fingers around Mickey's wrist, sending a whole new wave of pleasure through them both. 

Mickey's Mark burned hot under Ian's fingers. 

"Let me." Ian whispered, releasing Mickey's wrist in favor of wrapping his fingers around Mickey's weeping cock. 

"Oh, oh fuck." Mickey moaned, thrusting up into Ian's tight fist before throwing his hips back on his huge cock. "Yeah, jesus. Ian." 

"C'mon, Mick. You're right fucking there." Ian sighed, watching Mickey's body undulating on top of his. God, it was a fucking glorious sight. His Match was gorgeous. Every single thing about him, Ian was enraptured. "You look so fucking sexy, riding my dick, baby. Fuck." 

Now, Mickey's not one for pet names, but the word felt right rolling off Ian's tongue. Everything he did felt right. 

Soulmates. 

That thought was enough to send Mickey over the edge. He rocked into Ian's fist twice more before his whole body went rigid and he came hard all over Ian's fist and his pink, sweaty chest. 

"Fuck. Fuck." Mickey stuttered, his whole body overcome with wave after wave of exquisite pleasure. He closed his eyes, loopy smile on his fucked out face. 

Ian watches his lover fall apart above him and his heart just about explodes with love. Ian knew that this was how soulmates worked, but experiencing it himself is something else entirely. He wraps his arms around Mickey's waist, dragging him down and settling on top of him. He surges forward, burying himself to the hilt once more as he chases his own release. Mickey is soft and pliant under him, staring up at Ian with shining, wet eyes. The tiniest smile splits his lips as he threads his fingers through the hair on the back of Ian's head, pulling their mouths together again. 

Ian fucks him slow but hard, the fire building in his gut as he nears his end. "Mick, fuck. I.... I love you." the words spill from his lips just as his orgasm washes over him like a fucking tidal wave. It hits him so hard, he can barely breath. His hips stutter and his heart skips in his chest. It goes on and on, wave after wave of pleasure flowing over him as he fills Mickey with his release. 

Once the sensation subsides, Ian collapses, rolling off Mickey and landing on his back on the mattress. He stares at the ceiling, breathing heavy as he contemplates what just happened. 

Shit. 

Mickey just lays there for a moment, eyes closes, sweat cooling on his skin, body aching in all the best ways. He can feel Ian next to him, close but not close enough. He cracks one eye open to find Ian also laying on his back, staring at the ceiling with wide eyes, biting his lip and clenching his fingers into fists on his chest. 

Mickey rolls over, fondly running his tattooed fingers through Ian's sweaty hair. Ian glances over, giving Mickey a shy smile. 

Mickey quirks an eyebrow, confused. It's a little late to be shy now...

"What's up?" he asks, smiling as Ian curls into his touch. 

"Nothing." Ian mutters, but Mickey just raises his eyebrows higher. Ian reaches up, smoothing out his forehead. "Stop, you're gonna pop your stitch." 

"Then tell me what's going on. We're cool, yeah?" Mickey knows he sounds insecure, but this is his Match we're talking about. If he can't be vulnerable with Ian, what's the point?

"It's just....what I said...I know it's like, too early or whatever. I didn't mean to say it, it just kinda slipped out in the moment. Y'know what? Never mind, it's dumb, I'm dumb." 

Mickey is confused for a moment. He just watches Ian's face as the other man avoids his eyes. Ian looks worried. Stressed out and scared. 

Mickey can't for the life of him recall what Ian's talking about...

He wracks his brain, the last moments of their heated sexual encounter filtering through his still foggy brain until he gets to the very last moment. The epic crescendo, followed by....

Oh. 

"Ian, look at me." Mickey chuckles. Ian rolls his eyes but doesn't move to glance at Mickey. Mickey huffs out a little laugh, gripping Ian under the chin and bringing them face to face. Ian looks so nervous, Mickey can't help himself. 

He kisses Ian once, hard on the mouth. Lips pressed tight together, tongue barely lapping at Ian's chapped lips. 

"Ian, I love you too. That's how this shit works. We're meant to be. Matches. Soul-fucking-mates. If you believe the Lore, we've loved each other well before this lifetime, and we'll be just as in love in the next life and the life after that. You don't have to worry about saying it too soon, or feeling it too much. You don't have to be scared that I don't feel the same way." 

Ian just stared at him, totally shocked and overwhelmed by his Match's words. 

This is not the kind of shit you expect to hear from Mickey Milkovich. 

It hits Ian in that moment, how much he still has to learn about his soulmate. 

"Damn, Mick. That's like the perfect answer." Ian giggled. 

"Yeah, well, I'm perfect for you, so...." Mickey muttered, hiding his blushing face in Ian's chest. Ian laughed, wrapping his Match up in his arms and holding him close. 

Their hearts beat in sync, thudding together in a harmony only they could hear. 

"I can't believe I finally found you." Ian murmured, after long minutes of silence between them. They laid together, their intertwined bodies cool now, breathing slow and steady, just enjoying the quiet closeness of the moment. "I wasn't sure it was ever going to happen." 

Mickey lifted his head off Ian's chest so he could look down at him. Ian looked so small, so unsure in the moment. Mickey didn't like it one bit. 

"And why's that?" Mickey asks, head cocked to the side. 

"Well, I know everyone has their Match out there, but I just didn't know if mine would want me." Ian's voice was barely audible, but Mickey caught what he said. The words broke his heart. 

"Hey, what the fuck?" Mickey replied, sitting up all the way. Ian sat up too, leaning against Mickey's headboard with a sad sigh. "Ian, why would you think that?" 

"Mickey, I'm fucked up. I know you must've heard about it. This neighborhood is nothing but a rumor mill." 

Mickey nodded. Yeah, he'd heard some shit. 

"Yeah, well, I wasn't so sure my Match would be so keen on being stuck with damaged goods. I mean, I've been trying to get better. I take my meds, I go to therapy. I do all that shit so I can be good enough. But I just didn't know if it would ever be...I didn't think I'd ever be..." Ian can feel his chest tightening, he can feel the burn of tears in his eyes. 

Fuck. 

Mickey is moving before his brain knows what his body is doing. He curls up around Ian's body, wrapping his arms around his shoulders and throwing one of his legs over Ian's hips. He pulls Ian down, laying his head on Mickey's chest. 

"Fuck off with that shit." Mickey whispers into Ian's hair. "Ian, I don't give a shit if you're sick, or a little fucked up. I mean, we had to fight my dad off us today. So it's fair to say I have my own shit. You don't know me that well yet, but let's just say I've got issues of my own. Y'know, upstairs." he tapped the side of his head, earning himself a weak chuckle from his lover. "Neither of us are perfect. But we're perfect for each other. I'll be honest, I was actively avoiding meeting my Match. Because I was fucking scared shitless of what Terry was gonna do to me, or my Match. I was a pussy. But now that it's done, I'm glad. I'm happy I don't have to hide anymore, and I'm more than fucking happy it's you on the other side of these hand prints." Mickey waved his Mark in Ian's face. Ian gave him a watery smile in response. 

"You're really glad it's me?" Ian can't help but ask. His illness makes him insecure, ever since he got diagnosed, he just hasn't been able to muster that same level of confidence he had growing up. 

"You bet your fine ass I am." Mickey grinned, gripping Ian's hair in his fist and dragging him into a biting kiss. Ian grinned against Mickey's lips, sighing as Mickey's tongue darted into his mouth. 

Mickey pulled back after a moment, resting their foreheads together. "I know we both know how soulmates work, but I think both of us are going to have to work on believing we deserve this. Happiness, or whatever." 

Ian nodded, smiling. His Match was right. It was gonna take more than his Marks blooming for him to believe he was worthy of love. But he and Mickey could figure it out. 

Together. 

"It's pretty soothing, you know?" Ian muttered, pulling Mickey's body flush against his own. 

"What is?" Mickey asks, gently running his fingers along the exposed skin of Ian's chest and stomach. 

"The inevitability of this moment." Ian replied, dragging his fingers through Mickey's pitch black hair, grinning at the little moan that slips past Mickey's lips at the contact. "Like, no matter what we did, no matter how scared we were or how much we tried to avoid it, we'd still be here." 

"Yeah." Mickey said, his voice low and fond. "No matter what, you and me. Forever." 

"Yeah." Ian replied, curling tighter around Mickey's body. Mickey wrapped himself in Ian, unable to get close enough, unable to feel enough or touch enough. 

It would never be enough with Ian. 

"That sounds so nice." Ian murmured. "Forever." 

Mickey hummed, surging up for another kiss. Ian melted into it, lips and tongue moving slowly against the tender lips of his lover. 

Mickey lost himself in the moment, surrounded by Ian and his all-consuming energy. 

Ian was right. It was inevitable. Mickey was only a man, and his Match was a force of nature. A glorious ginger tornado of energy, excitement and sex. Mickey knows Ian's got his dark shit too, but that doesn't scare Mickey one bit. 

If there's anything Mickey is familiar with, it's dark shit. And he's not afraid to help Ian face his demons. They can do that shit together. Work through Ian's fears and Mickey's traumas. Ian's illness and Mickey's damage. 

They're going to face it all head on, together. And it's all gonna be okay. 

Because they are meant to be, and their ending is already written. 

Happily ever fucking after. 

It's inevitable, after all. 

"I love you, Ian." Mickey whispers, fully aware in that moment that he's never meant anything more in his entire life. He reaches up slowly, ghosting his fingers along Ian's Mark, smiling as Ian sharply inhales at the contact. 

"I love you too." Ian replies, his voice shaking. 

Mickey grins, falling heavily against Ian. God, he's so happy. So at peace. He's never felt this way in his life. 

And this is what everyone's always talking about. When you meet your Match and it just clicks. Mickey glances down at his Mark. That gorgeous imprint of Ian's delicate fingers on his wrist. 

In that moment he understands. 

His Mark's not just the physical imprint of his soulmate's first touch. It's the indelible mark Ian's left on his soul. Touching a place deep inside Mickey he never thought anyone would ever get close enough to see.

It's scary and it's incredible. Ian is everything Mickey never thought he wanted. But now that he's here, Mickey can't imagine life without him. 

His Match. His soulmate. 

"I'm glad it's you." Mickey whispers between them. He feels Ian's heart skip at that statement. His arms tighten around Mickey as he lays a gentle kiss to his messy hair. 

"Oh Mick, you're so silly." Ian laughs lightly, understanding finally what's been eluding him all this time. "It was always me. It's you and me, no matter what. No matter where or how, it's always been you and me." 

Mickey's not sure what Ian means, but he knows he's right. 

It's always been Ian and Mickey. 

And now it always will be. 

Inexorably.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this ended up being a lot longer than i anticipated. i just couldn't find a good place to break it up, so it is what it is. 
> 
> thanks for reading, hope you enjoyed it as much as i did.

**Author's Note:**

> so i got the idea to try a soulmates AU during a convo in a gallavich fan page on FB. this is my spin on the tired old trope. enjoy.


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